Scarlet Band
by High-Elf-Swordsman
Summary: The Scarlet Monastery has fallen to the Forsaken and only a small band of Scarlet Crusaders were able to escape. What will happen to them as they try to survive in the cursed remnants of Lordaeron?
1. Delilah's Song

Scarlet Band

Chapter 1: Delilah's Song

It had been a decent day lacking fog and a displaying a sky with a slight tint of blue behind the usual gray that usually blanketed the once-beautiful Tirisfal Glades; that was why the attack had come as such a shock.

The monsters had come without warning, Undead horrors striking at their sacred bastion: the Scarlet Monastery. For years their had been rumors of an attack from the nearby Undead city, but little more than a few foolhardy adventurers had stumbled into the stronghold, most of them slaughtered like filth while the survivors occasionally escaped with treasure, more commonly with scars. Yet today had been a planned siege; the Undead, despite their rotted brains, possessed an odd cunning, a devious intelligence that had allowed them not only to prove a nuisance, but also to pose a threat to the fortress.

These thoughts ran through Delilah Corwin's mind as she rushed away from the granite building that had been her home for the past five years. She cursed her own cowardice, her own failure for leaving the monastery. Yet, she realized, she had done right, she was merely following the orders of her superiors. As the Undead had pressed closer to the Cathedral, strewing the corpses of noble Scarlet Crusaders like rags and staining the marble floors with warm blood, High Inquisitor Whitemane had ordered several battalions of crusaders to retreat. Delilah thought back to the incident, running over each event in her mind.

_"Our forces here cannot repel the attack, no matter how hard we try," Whitemane had said, her expression dour as she spoke to her troops. "The library is in shambles and the armory will soon fall. The graveyard has long-since been a lost cause, and we here can do nothing to stop the wave of Undead. They will continue to push her until this building is nothing but rubble; they will want to bring my head back for their unholy rituals."_

_"What do you suggest, High Inquisitor?" Captain Baelin had spoken up, his hands trembling not with fear or death, but with the anticipation of battle. "It will be an honor to die by your side!"_

_"You shall do no such thing, Baelin son of Armand," Whitemane replied. "My personal battalion and I shall stay here, the rest of you must flee." Instantly cries of dissent echoed off the high ceilinged chamber, the voices amplified as if the stained glass portraits of Mograine were repeating the calls. Whitemane raised her hands to silence the assembled soldiers._

_"Warriors of the Scarlet Crusade, nay, Defenders of the Light, I feel I must better explain the situation to you," Whitemane sighed, turning and walking towards her throne before plunking downward, her feet seeming to give way to a body that felt heavy with emotion. "Runners have long since reported to me on the status of our forces. Houndmaster Loksey is dead, as are four-fifths of our sentry and scouting force. Meanwhile, half the battalions Herod commands from the armory are either dead, routed, or missing in action. Here, in the Cathedral, we have fewer than three thousand warriors to call upon, not nearly enough to stop the Undead force whose estimated size is over ten thousand. Messengers have informed me that the monstrous Dreadlord, Varimathras himself, has come here; none can stand against this monster, and there is even rumor that he has slaughtered Arcanist Doan and several other upper echelon commanders. Reports have also stated that Sylvanas herself is on the way; she has long hated our presence here and the Cathedral will surely be her first target. _

"_You are the elite of the elites, the finest soldiers of the Scarlet Crusade. To die here now would make you martyrs, but to live will make you heroes. I am confident you will all survive with the time I shall buy here, survive and grow stronger, strong enough to blunt the arm of the Scourge, powerful enough to make even the Dark Lady shudder, righteous enough to purify the Lich King himself!" Raucous cheers erupted from the chamber, and the walls seemed to scream the words: "For the Scarlet Crusade!" "Hail Whitemane!" "Remember the Ashbinger!"_

_Whitemane once again raised her hands to ask for silence. "Baelin, approach me."_

_"Yes, m'lady," the Captain said, his red and gold armor clinking as he walked towards Whitemane. He knelt down before her and raised his visor, exposing his handsome face and ebony hair. _

_"Baelin, long have I trusted you as an excellent warrior and advisor. Despite only living for twenty-six summers you have proven yourself time and again as a great Keeper of the Light. Now, I would like to bestow upon you an honor," at that, Whitemane rose and removed and necklace from her neck which she laced below Baelin's helmet. "From this day forth, I promote you to the rank of Inquisitor of the Scarlet Crusade." Cheers erupted from the crowd, loud enough to mask Baelin's reply._

_"High Inquisitor, I thank you for this honor."_

_"I trust you will exceed my expectations, Inquisitor." Whitemane replied, a wry smile on her face. "Now, Baelin, take the troops through the passages at the back of the cathedral. Once you have all exited, I will magically seal the gates, making it impossible or at least difficult for the Undead to pursue you. Make haste to our stronghold of Tyr's Hand; tell them of what happened this day and add your might to theirs. You all have my blessing, may the Light guide you!"_

_The sound of a battering ram at the walls of the cathedral courtyard signaled the arrival of the Undead. The Scarlet Commander, Renault Mograine, appeared from behind one of the door leading out of the passage._

_"Make haste, warriors, I shall purge as many of these cretins as I can," Mograine declared. "Waste no time, do as the High Inquisitor commands!" Mograine drew his mace and rushed towards the doorway, a cadre of several dozen paladins surrounding him. _

_Baelin waved his hand for the troops to follow, and in minutes they were rushing out the secret tunnels which led beneath the Scarlet Monastery. _

_From the crowd of troops, Delilah looked back once, felt a tear roll down her cheek, and wiped it away. She would make the Undead pay one-thousand fold for what they did on this day. _

Delilah heard the sounds of combat as she exited the tunnels, and shuddered as she saw what was before her. All around her humans fought undead; corpses of both sides lay strewn on the ground.

"Light-damned Undead, they knew about the tunnels!" A soldier cried seconds before an arrow pierced his heart. Around him, several other warriors turned to flee back into the tunnels, and for a moment Delilah considered turning around herself.

"Stay and fight! Do not let Whitemane's sacrifice be in vain! Behind you lies death, before you lies redemption! Slaughter them all!" Captain, no, it was Inquisitor now, Baelin's voice echoed across the landscape. Delilah looked to see the heroic man hacking apart row after row of undead with his shimmering two-handed broadsword _Purity's Fang_. An aura of holy energy seemed to surround Baelin, the undead's attacks becoming slow and clumsy as they neared the holy swordsman. The troops needed no further goading: one of the men who had turned to flee, a black-haired archer, turned and fired an arrow into the skull of one Undead warrior; a female crusader fired a bolt of holy magic that incinerated a mage, leaving nothing but dust. Delilah herself felt the call to arms, drew her two-handed hammer, and rushed into the fray.

Each action seemed to be magnified, time slowing its endless ebb as the battle unfolded around Delilah. Her hammer smashed the skull of one warrior before she wheeled it around to crush the shield of another creature before it was decapitated by a fellow crusader. Her weapon seemed to become weightless, as if the Light itself was guiding the weapon, inspiring it to complete its righteous duty. Delilah could not count how many undead she felled nor how long the battle raged.

As the sun began to set over the hills, Delilah became aware of the futility of the battle. All around her lay corpses, yet the red tabard of the crusade was more evident than the black and violet armor of their adversaries. As she paused to think, Delilah felt a twinge of pain in her right leg and saw a dagger jutting out just above her knee. She squinted into the darkness but could not make out her attacker. _If able, never fight Undead monstrosities at night; their eyesight is best in darkness and they are stronger when they can hide from the Light._ This precept of the Scarlet Crusade echoed in Delilah's mind as she staggered into a copse of trees along with a few dozen others warriors. The crusade had lost.

Delilah panted and shuddered in fear as she heard the undead approach behind them; she saw the faces of her peers twisted in fear, their righteous indignation having disappeared under the veil of reality. Delilah offered a single glance back, noticing four score warriors still battling the undead, while another score and a half attempted to hold the undead off at the treeline. _How many must sacrifice their lives so nobly so that cowards like us may cling to life a few moments longer? _Delilah asked herself.

Delilah did not know for how long she and her companions ran, but all stopped simultaneously at a brook some miles away from what was once the Scarlet Monastery. As these beleaguered crusaders collapsed, many offered prayers to the Light for thanks or cursed their own cowardice, yet one sound echoed above all others: a man, crying. All tongues stopped their speech and turned to see Inquisitor Baelin, resplendent in gold and crimson armor, slamming a gauntleted fist on a boulder and wailing.

"I…h…have f…failed Whitemane! F…failed my men! Failed the Crusade! Failed the L…Light!" Baelin stammered between sobs. All were speechless: none had ever seen this mighty man in such a sorry state before. "I sh…sh….should've stayed and fought!" Instantly, cries of dissent arose.

"No, Inquisitor, you did the right thing!" The black haired archer whom Delilah had noticed earlier piped up. "Whitemane wanted you to live so you could lead us all to avenge the dead and someday rebuild the monastery more gloriously than ever!"

"Yes, had you died back there it would have been a detriment to the Crusade!" Gabrielle, a normally soft-spoken priest, offered. "Inquisitor, your survival today ensures that we will slaughter hundreds of Undead in the years to come!"

"They're right commander," Delilah was stunned that her own voice joined the crowd. "You're one of the finest warriors we have! Those men back there died because they knew of your value to us all!" Delilah had always been complemented on her beautiful smile since a young age, and so she revealed it now to her commander; she brushed her blonde bangs aside to show her eager green eyes, hoping her appearance might not only inspire Baelin, but also catch his attention.

Baelin wiped the tears from his eyes and turned to face the assembled troops. "Yes, our friends have sold their lives to slaughter the Undead and ensure that we will live to kill ten thousand for every one we have lost! We are the Scarlet Crusade, the last bastion of humanity in Lordaeron! We will purge the land of these beasts and return the kingdom to its former glory! Though there are only a few hundred of us here, we shall press onward! Tyr's Hand is at least a month's march from here, so we had best make haste!" Baelin drew his blade, allowing it to catch the moonlight. "Even if darkness surrounds us, a single pin-prick of light can pierce the shadow and someday fill the void with luminance!"

Shouts of joy erupted from the warriors, but Baelin raised a hand. "We have made too much noise here, the Undead are probably on our trail. Let us march until sun-up and then rest. I want all archers and scouts to patrol our flanks and report to me if any enemies are sighted; I would also like to task you with foraging for any possible rations we could make use of. Meanwhile, I want heavy infantry in the front and rear, while our healers and mages should situate themselves in the center of our formation. From my estimates it appears we only have a half-thousand warriors here. Stragglers will surely join us within the next few days, and we may find other willing recruits on our way, though that it highly unlikely. 'Trust none who approach who do not wear the Scarlet Tabard,'" Baelin quoted another precept.

Delilah sighed and turned away, taking her place in the front ranks. It appeared she would merely be another body in this sea of troops. She shook all thoughts of life from her mind and tried her best to concentrate on thoughts of vengeance, yet she continued to think of Baelin's dark eyes.

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As the sun rose over the trees of Tirisfal, Baelin called a halt to the march and stood before his troops to give a speech.

"We will make camp here for the next day and wait for stragglers to join us. You are all ordered to rest and resupply as best you can so that we can continue our march with sufficient preparation. I have decided to divide you into four companies, each led by a captain who will report directly to me based on the company's needs. The Crimson Company will be led by Captain Aurora and will consist of the remnants of the 8th Paladin Battalion, the 7th and 11th Scouting Battalions, the 5th Warrior Battalion, and the 1st Magister Battalion," Delilah, a former member of the 8th Battalion, tuned out the remainder of Baelin's force divisions, focusing instead on the stern gaze of Captain Aurora.

Aurora was one of the strongest paladins in the Scarlet Cathedral, a former sergeant serving the 8th Paladin Battalion. Delilah did not know her well, only having exchanged a few words with her now and then when requesting supplies or asking about guard schedules. Aurora, with her cold gaze, gray eyes, and pure raven hair gave off an aura of stability and a low tolerance for failure. It is said that Aurora killed her own brother and sister when they had been unable to defeat an Abomination that was roaming a league from the Monastery. Though some, like Delilah, saw this measure as unnecessarily harsh none dared argue with the famed paladin who stated, time and again, "The Scarlet Crusade does not harbor weakness. Those who fail our cause are dead to us." Delilah gulped, hoping she would not incur the wrath of this mighty woman.

"…thus, our organization will be known as the Scarlet Band, at least until we arrive at Tyr's Hand," Baelin finished. "We will rotate watch in six hour increments, with each of our four companies taking a shift. I want Crimson Company to take the first watch, Cinnabar Company second, Carnelian Company third, and Coral Company last. I will leave it up to the individual commanders to determine where to station his or her troops. I would also request that all scouts I sent to hunt and gather supplies report to the center of our formation and take stock of whatever rations they are able to scrape together. I will then supervise distribution of supplies so that everyone gets a fair share." Baelin paused, his expression becoming darker before he continued. "Also, from this point on, I am making it a law of the Scarlet Band that anyone caught stealing, hiding, or unfairly distributing resources will be put to death immediately, no questions asked. Now, enough of me blowing hot air, let's get to work!"

"Crimson Company, assemble!" Aurora's stern cry grabbed the attention of her charges, and they instantly assembled in rank and file before the paladin who stood some distance away from Baelin and his close confidants. Delilah had not noticed it before, but now she realized there seemed to be a greater degree of malice in Aurora's face whenever she looked in Baelin's direction; clearly, the female commander had distanced herself from the new Inquisitor for a reason.

_Perhaps she believes the position should have been hers,_ Delilah thought as she gazed at Aurora's cold eyes. _Is there bad blood between Aurora and Baelin?_ She wondered.

"Warriors of the Crusade," Aurora began, "for those of you that do not know me, I pity you. My name is Aurora Cronos, daughter of Maelin and Josua Cronos. I joined the Silver Hand at age twelve as a mere healer's assistant, and through hard work and dedication I was able to learn the ways of the Paladin. I fought alongside Uther the Lightbringer in the Third War, and joined the Scarlet Crusade shortly after his death. My esteemed reputation soon gained me the much deserved rank of captain."

"Awfully full of herself, isn't she?" A voice whispered in Delilah's ear. She turned to see the black haired archer who had aided her earlier.

"Is there something you'd like to share with us all, _scout_?" Aurora's eyes pinned themselves on the archer's face, and he shivered slightly. Everyone could tell from her enunciation of the final word of the sentence that she placed the lad, and perhaps scouts in general, far below her station. "Let's just hope you don't run off your mouth on missions and draw Undead to our position, eh? Regardless, I do not have time to waste chiding disrespectful subordinates, so I will be brief. You are all assigned to watch duty for the next six hours. I would like warriors and paladins at the edges of camp, while scouts and mages patrol and plug holes if necessary. I would like the scouts to also be responsible for gathering and distributing supplies from the center of camp. You, boy," once again she addressed the archer next to Delilah, "since you seem to enjoy talking to and about paladins so much, you are assigned to the front line with the melee troops. See if you can be of some use to them. You all have your orders, dismissed!"

"Yes, m'lady!" A hundred voices said in unison as the headed off.

As Delilah headed to the eastern perimeter of the camp alongside several dozen other soldiers, she heard the archer's voice behind her.

"Sorry I have yet to introduce myself, my name's Adrian, Adrian Loksey," the archer stated as he walked up beside Delilah and extended his hand.

"I'm Delilah Corwin," she replied, extending her hand for a shake. "Loksey? As in the Houndmaster? I did not know her had a wife." She continued, cringing slightly as Adrian kissed her hand before letting it go.

"You're right, he never married," Adrian stated, "let's just say he was popular with the ladies in his youth."

"Oh," Delilah said simply, turning to continue walking while Adrian continued to prattle on.

"Yeah, dear old dad died in the attack, he went down like a real man, fighting off the Undead as long as he could, bought a lot of time for the rest of the troops to rally. It's a shame his dogs went too, I loved those mongrels almost as much as my father."

"Fascinating," Delilah sighed. She did not mean to be so anti-social, but the events of the past few days and Adrian's general mood did little for her feelings.

"Why is it the pretty ones always seem to be so curt?" Adrian muttered to himself, removing his bow from his shoulder and beginning to polish it as he sat down against a tree. He removed an arrow from his quiver and looked down the shaft, before exclaiming, "damn good quality, too bad I'll probably need to make my own arrows 'til we get to Tyr's Hand. I can barely fletch without my tools, and I left them in the Monastery."

_Seriously, stop talking_, Delilah thought. _We need to focus on surviving and fighting the Undead, not worthless stories about our personal lives. 'We live to slaughter the Unholy and revive the might of Lordaeron; friends are but soldiers you can trust, love is but a motivating force,'_ Delilah thought, the precept revealing her current feelings. Yet, as much as she desired to focus only on matters of business, she could not ignore the thoughts of Baelin that raced through her mind. _Ludicrous, truly ludicrous! Why do I waste time thinking about my commander? It cannot be love, for I barely know him, and even so choosing a husband is about more than love these days. _

Delilah sighed as she thought about this sad fact. The Scarlet Crusade's membership was large, far larger than the worthless Argent Dawn or the remnants of the once glorious Silver Hand. Yet, year after year more and more warriors killed while the armies of the Undead swelled, or at the very least stabilized. Though little by little the unholy forces were reduced or blunted, they ultimately survived in proportionately better shape than their adversaries. Meanwhile, few new members joined the Scarlet Crusade: most of Lordaeron's inhabitants who had not died from the plague had fled south to Hillsbrad or Stormwind, while the majority of those that remained were already members, or at least beneficiaries, of the organization. The women of the Crusade also rarely gave birth, as they were often needed for combat and thus could not afford to have time away from battle to nurture a pregnancy. Recently, however, High General Abbendis herself had sent out an edict stating that all younger women should attempt to have at least two children in their life, if not more. Women in higher ranking positions, such as Captains, Generals, and Inquisitors, were exempt from such a law, their positions requiring constant attention (though Delilah knew some of these women still had affairs and there was even rumor that Abbendis had a pair of twin daughters). There was no direct penalty for failing to comply, but women like Delilah knew that the future of the Scarlet Crusade depended on such efforts. If only men like Baelin took an interest in her, perhaps she would abide.

As Delilah was considering all of this, she began to sing a song from her youth, not fully recognizing this subconscious cantillation.

"The golden hills cry out in vain

The trees begin to fall

The villains rush across the plain

To heed the monster's call.

The future seems bleak as can be

With darkness closing in

Town are crushed for all to see

Men perish in the din.

Yet heroes rise to join the fight

Warriors brave and true

They will slay all within their sight

Beneath the skies of blue.

They lay down their lives we may live

At last they show a wringer

A man whose life he'd gladly give

Good Uther the Lightbringer.

Uther's Hammer judged them all

His Holy Light avenged

To him enemies were merely small

His foes splintered like wenge.

Great Uther turned…"

"Beautiful song," a voice interrupted Delilah and she turned to see a wizard standing beside her; she looked to be a little older than Delilah, her short auburn hair and brown eyes gave her an attractive appearance. "That was the 'Hymn of Uther the Lightbringer,' am I correct?"

"Yes…" Delilah began, before a voice she hoped not to hear cut her off.

"About his death in the Third War right?" Adrian piped up, rushing over to join the conversation.

"No, actually it details his actions in the Second War," the mage said. "The enemy it refers to are the Orcs, not the Undead."

"Precisely," Delilah said. "I am Delilah Corwin, by the way. What is your name?"

"I go by Illana," the wizard replied. "it's a pleasure to meet you. Since we serve in the same company, I am sure we will be working together quite a bit." Delilah nodded in reply; she could already feel that the two of them would get along.

Suddenly, the trio heard footsteps and turned around to see a breathless runner carrying a haversack over each shoulder. "G…greetings my lo…lord and ladies, I h…ha…have supplies for you all," the scout managed to stammer as he panted, looking down as he bent over to catch his breath. He craned his neck upward and smiled, "nice to see you are still in one piece, Loksey, I thought Aurora would cleave you in two for sure! Not that it'd be a huge loss, you're a poor shot after all!"

"Look who's talking, Gareth!" Adrian exclaimed jokingly, walking over to remove the haversacks from his friends, handing one to each of the ladies. "You can barely even carry these little bags for a few meters!"

"Easy for you to say, Aurora let you off easy! I'm stuck running around delivering things to everyone! Now I've even got to go back to get another bag for your sorry hide!" Gareth continued.

"No need, I can hunt my own game since I'm stationed at the front anyway," Adrian continued. "Good luck!"

"Thanks, I will surely need it," Gareth muttered before rushing back towards the center of camp.

"He's a good guy, that Gareth," Adrian said. "Always give me free arrows or rather, doesn't mind me 'borrowing' them," he held out his hand to show a bundle of shafts, most likely looted from Gareth's quiver when the lad was not looking. Illana chuckled slightly at this, while Delilah just gave Adrian a cold stare. "Come on, lighten up, she thinks I'm funny."

"What did Inquisitor Baelin say about stealing?" Delilah shot back. "If we want to survive until Tyr's Hand, no, if we want to win the war against the Undead we cannot afford to treat each other in such a manner."

"He is one of my closest friends, he will understand," Adrian replied, "no need to get so worked up. Anyway, I had better scrounge up some food for myself, I will see you ladies later." With that, Adrian walked off, heading towards a distant copse of trees.

"Clearly, you dislike him," Illana stated matter-of-factly.

"Did you use your magic to figure that out?" Delilah replied, a slight hint of humor in her cold diction.

"He obviously is interested in you. And besides, you should at least be courteous to him, after all we will all be working together. You said it yourself, we need to treat each other well if we want to survive."

"True, but I just get a bad feeling from him," Delilah answered. "Perhaps I am over-thinking things. It just must be the stress from the recent battle." Illana nodded.

"Well, I had best continue my patrol route. Some of the other mages were able to craft defensive bubbles that can hold a few people as makeshift tents; we have some extra space, so feel welcome to share one with some of my associates and I when you need to sleep."

"Thanks for the offer, but I think I can handle myself," Delilah replied. "I will see you later I suppose."

"Goodbye!"

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No events of note occurred during the hours of Delilah's watch, save for another scout appearing to deliver a makeshift tent of sewed hides to Delilah. At one point she thought she saw Adrian walking towards her from some distant trees, but seconds later lost sight of him. When a member of the Cinnabar Company appeared to take her place, Delilah was more than ready to snag some sleep. She made her way to the center of the camp and pitched her tent far enough away from the others to feel private, but close enough to feel safe.

As Delilah fell asleep she began to reflect on the recent events that had been the Scarlet Crusade. As the images of red-clad warriors slaughtering and being slain by undead troops filled her mind, she thought back to the days when she first joined the Scarlet Crusade…

Character Profile: Delilah Corwin

Age: 17

Rank: Low-ranking Paladin of the Scarlet Crusade

Affiliation: Member of the Scarlet Band's Crimson Company, formerly a member of the 8th Paladin Battalion in the Scarlet Monastery's Cathedral

Abilities: Delilah is a Paladin in-training. She knows basic healing and offensive holy magic which is supplemented by her skills with a two-handed mace.

Appearance: Delilah is five feet five inches tall and is fairly slender. Her hair is blonde and falls roughly to her shoulders. Her eyes are a medium green hue. She wears a suit of red mail armor, the standard outfit for a warrior of her station, covering the majority of her body save her head; she also wears the traditional Scarlet Crusade tabard.

High-Elf-Swordsman (HES): Hey everyone! That's right, I'm back to writing Warcraft fan fiction! This story, like many others, came to me one day as random inspiration! For those that wonder, yes, this story does pick up where Forsaken Love left off; I promised I wouldn't do a sequel involving Darren, I never promised no sort of sequel whatsoever! I've always been interested in the Scarlet Crusade, and I decided it'd be fun and interesting to tell a story about them. I hope you all are enjoying it so far and keep coming back for more! I've planned this story to continue for awhile, and I hope you all will stay with me through that journey! Review if you can, I really value input and it inspires me to work harder and update more frequently! Until next time, have a good one!


	2. Maroon Memories

Chapter 2: Maroon Memories

"Name?" The Inquisitor asked as he sat behind the plain oaken table, his quill pen itching to scratch out information on the parchment before him. The rest of the room was dank and barren, the only light present was a glimmering tallow candle that sat in a wall alcove and occasionally dripped streams of wax onto the cobblestone floor.

"Delilah…Delilah Corwin," the young girl stammered, he chin barely peeking over the edge of the table.

"Age?"

"Fourteen."

"Be honest."

"Eleven."

"Better. Relations?"

"I'm an orphan. My uncle, Jonathan Corwin, used to serve the Silver Hand; he was killed during the siege of Stratholme."

"I see. Nation of origin?"

"Lordaeron. My family and I fled the capitol shortly after Arthas seized power."

"You beat me to my next question. What skills can you bring to the Scarlet Crusade?"

"I…I can read." Delilah replied shyly.

"Literacy is always appreciated. What else?" There was a long pause before Delilah answered.

"I never trained to fight or anything, but my Uncle always did tell me he sensed energies of the Light in me. He said I could be a Paladin someday…if I worked at it…" She trailed off, her eyes turning away to avoid the cold gaze of the ancient man before her.

"He was not lying. Do you have any reason to subvert the Crusade, betray humanity, or aid the Undead?"

"No," Delilah's tone became cold. "I watched my father dragged away by a ghoul and my mother was killed as a gargoyle as we fled into the countryside. I only escaped thanks to their sacrifice. I came here to avenge them."

"No," the man shook his head. "You are lying." Delilah shivered as he said this; she had been telling the truth, why did he question her? "You came here to eke on an existence, to find a way to cling to life. You need a way to survive, we need soldiers. You need a purpose, or rather a strengthening of purpose; we can do that for you. Delilah Corwin, from this day forth you shall serve the Scarlet Crusade." The man rose and walked over to the dungeon-like door that was the only way in or out of the musty room. "Report to the Monastery. You will be directed to join the other Scarlet Trainees."

"Thank you sir," she stated. "I thank you for your trust and help mr…?"

"Heh, it's surprising to meet someone who does not know me," the man replied haughtily. "I am called Isillien." Without another word, the man shepherded Delilah out of the room and let in the next potential recruit from the massive line of refugees.

As Delilah walked away, she looked at the other members of the rag-tag bunch she had arrived with: there were people of all ages and former social classes. Some were barely half her age, while others looked to be well into their winter years. Most wore the garbs of peasants or paupers, while here and there Delilah saw what she assumed to be disposed nobles, their once fashionable clothes now little better than the rags of the lower classes save for a different color of dye. It seemed the Crusade would take any they trusted; Delilah felt lucky she was one, for as she walked away she heard the sounds of screams as those found untrustworthy or carrying the taint of the Undead were purified by the holy soldiers.

Delilah fell in with a line of other new recruits, another rag-tag line which pranced up the hill towards the imposing structure of Scarlet Monastery. As she came closer and closer, Delilah felt more and more humbled by the massive building. Its spires jutted over a hundred yards above her head, its steeples piercing the sky as if offering a defiant message: "we humans will not leave so easily; we worked hundreds of years to build the nation of Lordaeron and it shall not fall."

For the past several months, Delilah had felt nothing but despair. She had watched in horror as her family and friends were slaughtered by the Scourge, she had lost hope as she had watched Lordaeron's army vainly attempt to defend refugees like her, and she had felt misery as she heard countless tales of areas falling to the endless sea of Undead. Yet, as Delilah marched forward with others, their faces set in determination, she felt her hope seem to return. All around her men and women marched, their red clothing slicing through the austere atmosphere of Tirisfal. Endless energy seemed to erupt from all present, a feeling that seemed infectious to Delilah and the other recruits as they quickened their pace. If anything could save humanity, it was the people assembled here.

"Halt," a stern voice commanded from the front of line of initiates. Delilah peeked around the tall lad standing before her, managing to catch a glimpse of the figure who had spoken. She had not noticed that the line was led by a Crusader, yet she realized she should have assumed as much. The speaker was a woman whom Delilah guessed was around the age of twenty; she had long, flowing hair that was mostly white, but there was a slight stream of blonde here and there. A small, black cap with red lining sat atop her head, while a sleeveless jerkin of similar material covered her chest, ending in a V-shape at her legs, leaving them completely exposed save for the onyx colored boots that covered her feet and ankles. The woman's eyes were red, her skin deathly pale, yet she possessed an odd beauty and exuded an air of devotion.

"Welcome to the Scarlet Crusade," the woman continued, directing her hands towards the building behind her. "This is the Scarlet Monastery, one of the final bastions of righteousness in this befouled land. Yet, with help from recruits such as yourself soon all of Lordaeron will be restored to its former glory!" Many of the initiates responded with cheers, while others looked skeptical or merely confused.

The woman raised her hands to silence the assembled crowd, revealing long burgundy gloves that extended all the way to her elbows. "My name is Inquisitor Whitemane and from this day forth you are all under my charge. I will not directly oversee your training, but I will be responsible for your superiors who will deal with teaching you the ways of combat and the Crusade. Some of you will become paladins, other priests, warriors, mages, archers, and still others may be deemed…" White paused, "…unfit." A chill seemed to pass through the crowd as Whitemane uttered this word; before joining the Crusade, Delilah had heard rumors that untrustworthy or tainted members disappeared, yet no one knew exactly _what_ befell these unfortunate souls.

"You will follow me to the training ground behind the monastery," Whitemane's speech pressed onward. "Those of you that pass the initial trials will be assigned to a specific battalion, and from there you will be trained. Some of you may even be lucky enough to someday enter the inner sanctums of our monastery and be able to stand beside myself and the other high-ranking Inquisitors and Champions. Now, follow me."

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As the initiates arrived at the training ground, they were awed by the speed at which they were forced into action. Upon arrival, the lines of recruits were separate into smaller clumps by a series of sergeants. These officers ordered their initiates to follow them to specific parts of the area so that each group could conduct its trials individually.

"The name's Matthias, but call me Sergeant," Delilah's assigned officer stated briefly, his voice slightly muffled behind the visor of his shimmering bronze helmet. "These," he continued, pointing to a pile of boxes, "are the first step in the trials. Open up a box, pull out some weapons, and test them on the dummies over there," Matthias pointed, indicating rows of wooden mannequins that acted as crude representations of undead troops. "You have until this evening to train. Find a weapon you are confident with, you will need to be ready to use it sooner than you think. If any of you have any magical skills feel free to practice those instead, just don't go starting any errant fires or blasting apart your colleagues here. In about a week's time each of you will be issued the red garments of an initiate to identify yourselves as members of our organization. Now, step to it!"

The group of initiates rushed forward, their grimy hands clawing at the boxes, fighting in hopes of getting the best weapons. Delilah, a somewhat shy and emaciated lass, stood with some of the other less cavalier initiates, waiting for the pick of the litter when the others had finished. They seemed almost like animals to her, biting and punching one another as they struggled to grab the best armaments they could. It was the mark of desperation; these youths had fought so hard for survival these past few months; they knew that they needed anything to get ahead, would try anything if it would lead them to revenge, glory, or perhaps simply a life free from hunger and fear.

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Sergeant Matthias watched the spectacle, chuckling at the youngsters. "Good to see so much spirit, isn't it Claudia?" He asked, still looking at the clamoring initiates as he spoke to a figure that had appeared behind him.

"I'm still amazed you can sense me so well," the young woman replied, removing a crimson hood her from her face to reveal a visage of scars, an eyepatch covering her right eye.

"You may be able to surprise the Undead, but those scumbags have the senses of a Tirassian sponge. Plus, I have known you for years, there's nothing you can do that'd surprise me."

Claudia smiled, walking over to take a seat beside Matthias on the stump he had chosen. "Yes, it is good to see that the next generation has so much fire. Even if we cannot stave off the Undead, it seems they will have a chance."

Matthias nodded. "Certainly. I wonder how many of them will be accepted? The captains and inquisitors have awfully high standards."

"In times like this, we need anyone we can get; I think some of them may be taken as meat shields, if nothing else."

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Delilah and several of the meeker initiates reached the weapon crates twenty minutes after Matthias had first allowed access to them. The remaining score sighed as they were forced to take the worse weapons: rusty daggers, spears with warped shafts, and other poor quality armaments. The others looked sullen as they resigned themselves to these second-hand objects, yet Delilah ignored their feelings of weakness as she gripped the leaden hammer she had found in the crate, he hands curling around the gritty oak haft.

The fear Delilah had felt mere minutes ago had evaporated the moment she had clutched the weapon. It was a short hammer meant to be used as a single-handed mace, but the weight was enough that Delilah, a fairly thin girl, was forced to hold it with both hands to account for the weight. She swung it several times, attempting to get used to the weapon that moved sluggishly in her untrained grasp. The weapon seemed to be the boost Delilah needed, an implement that represented that path she had chosen for her life. With her hands she would redeem the fallen; with her body she would save Lordaeron.

Delilah made haste towards the training dummies, breezing past the gloomy initiates who had, like her, gained the poorer quality weapons. Yet, what did the weapon matter? Delilah realized that it was the wielder and way the weapon was wielded that influenced the outcome; surely, Uther the Lightbringer armed with a dagger would be a deadlier foe than an inexperienced Troll holding Quel'Serrar, the High Blade of the Elven Kingdom of Quel'Thalas.

_I will make this weapon an extension of my body, a divine implement of justice,_ Delilah thought as she clubbed wildly at the wooden armature. Her attacks were clumsy, slow, weak, ineffective, pathetic, but she did not care. _With each blow I become stronger, with each moment I come closer to my goal._ Delilah tuned out the other initiates around her, ignoring cries of joy, the sounds of blade biting wood, and the occasional fizzle of Ley energy arching from the fingers of a youth with magical talent. There was only her weapon in her hands, only her target before her. For a moment Delilah swore she saw the face of a cackling ghoul on the piece of the dummy resembling a head; at that moment, he hammer splintered the wood.

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Two years passed in the blink of an eye, yet to Delilah it felt as if time had stood still. Every day had been almost the same routine: wake up at sunrise, offer a prayer to the Light, eat breakfast, train until lunch, luncheon, train until dinner, assembly for dinner, an evening sermon by a rotating cast of high ranking members of the Scarlet Crusade, evening prayer, and finally bed in the barracks.

Each day Delilah felt herself grow slightly stronger, a bit more agile. She became more used to combat, eventually being permitted to spar with her colleagues after six months of training; Sergeant Matthias oversaw these mock battles, ensuring that no one was grievously injured and using his healing magic to heal any damage after the battle.

As the training went on, slowly but surely initiates began to be transferred between the battalions. Those that came with knowledge of the magical arts were first to be transferred to battalions with other mages; a few discovered there powers a month or two in, but most were aware of such abilities since their youth.

Next to leave were the initiates slated to become scouts. Students that showed proficiency with ranged weapons or stealth, or lacked the ability to effectively utilize close combat weapons were delegated to scout battalions.

Currently, Delilah's initiate battalion was made up of a conglomerate of youths: some showed adeptness for the martial arts, able to easily cleave apart wood with their swords or smash through shields with heavy hammers. Others began to show abilities with Holy Magic, able to blast righteous energy forward or easily heal the injuries they or their comrades suffered. Finally, there were those that showed proficiency in both areas, but were masters of neither; they were the students slated to become Paladins, able to wield Holy Energy while simultaneously striking down their foes. Delilah fell into this final category.

Delilah had discovered her ability to tap into the powers of the Light fourteen months into her training. One day while sparing against an opponent, Delilah was hit across the face with the flat of her foe's blade; she staggered briefly, closed her eyes, and concentrated: suddenly, it seemed as if an all-knowing voice was echoing in her head, speaking in tones rather than words. Delilah opened her eyes to see balls of golden magical energy flowing around her hands and, moments later, the wound on her face was no more.

After that day, Sergeant Matthias began inviting Delilah to come along with him to special training sessions which occurred after midday; each day she would accompany other initiates who had found skills with the Holy Light, waiting diligently as the sergeant would show them tips for utilizing the power of the Light for their own ends. Slowly but surely, Delilah and the other potential paladins and priests began to learn more and more abilities that would aid them in their fight against the Undead.

Each time Delilah used the power of the Light she felt more in tune with the world, as if she had truly become an embodiment of justice. Yet she continued to have a nagging feeling as well during each training session: she continued to become stronger, but when would the time come for her to put these skills to use?

As Matthias had said to his charges as he doled out weapons two years prior, "You will need to be ready to use it soon enough."

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"Are you sure it isn't too early to send them into the field?" Claudia's voice echoed through the subterranean room beneath the Scarlet Monastery. "My scouts have surely improved, but they are still quite green."

"If they are not ready to face the ultimate trial now, they might as well be dead," Whitemane replied. "I care for my charges as much as anyone, but I see that if they are truly to become instruments of justice they must face their foes head on. Striking wooden armatures only teaches so much."

"I agree," Isillien stated, slamming his fist on the oaken table. "Our ranks thin every day as those monsters push in from all angles. If we want to seize the initiative we need to push the initiates ahead as fast as possible."

"But sir," Claudia answered, her voice quavering, "some of them are still children!"

"Children?" Isillien's eyes gleamed wickedly as he turned to face the scout-captain. "When I was but ten summers old I was ready enough to raise a blade against the Trolls! The times have barely changed; if we pamper them too much, they will become weak. Hundreds will leave the Monastery as children, the few score that return will be true soldiers."

"So that's it? You're resigning so many to death?" Claudia shot back. "Matthias, some support would be appreciated."

"I'm neutral in all this," the sergeant replied coolly. "Half my battalion seems ready, the other half needs more training. Clearly, I could support either side. I choose to stay out of such petty fights. Let's save that energy for the Undead, shall we?"

"Well, can't we at least send some of our more experienced troops with them to reduce the harm they may suffer?" Claudia asked.

"We have planned to send two dozens low-ranking officers to assist them," Whitemane answered. "That is all we can spare, if we send any more troops with them we'd be leaving ourselves far too exposed. I'm sure that bastard Arthas is just waiting for a moment like that to attack."

"What about Tyr's Hand? Can't we ask them for reinforcements?" Claudia asked.

"Not possible," Isillien said dryly, clearing his throat before continuing. "They're having enough problems of their own and, even so, it would take at least three weeks for a messenger to reach them in these conditions and another month for the troops to muster and meet us. We cannot afford to waste that much time."

"Furthermore, this plan was approved by High General Abbendis himself," Whitemane added. "Even if all three of us were to oppose it, so long as one suggested the action we would have no recourse but to comply with the High General's request."

"I guess there isn't anything my words can do, then," Claudia said. "But at least grant me this: I want to be one of the officers who accompanies them."

"Fine," Isillien answered coldly. _Maybe this will finally be the chance I need to get that bitch out of my hair._

"I will go too," Matthias stated, "since I want to fight beside my old friend."

"Good, I will add you two to the list of field commanders for the operation," Isillien said, pulling out a quill and jotting down several notes on a roll of parchment.

"Then it is settled," Whitemane stated, rising from her chair. "Tomorrow, one hour before noon, our initiates will depart for a raid on the nearby undead encampment. Those that return will be promoted to the rank of soldier within the Crusade," Whitemane paused, a wry smile curling on her lips, "before beginning the _true_ initiation process."

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"Stay away from me, peasant," Ellen Cowell's haughty voice spoke, turning away from Delilah.

"My mistress dislikes speaking to commoners," Elrich Icearm stated, turning his spear as if baring Delilah's way.

"I was asked to help assemble the initiates for the mission," Delilah stated. "I apologize if I offended you, _your highness_." Delilah made sure to inject as much contempt and sarcasm as she could into the final two words of her sentence. She turned away and walked off towards the remainder of her battalion, the portion referred to by Ellen as the 'low-born.'

Ellen was one of a sizable minority in the Scarlet Crusade: displaced nobles. Though the Scourge's assault had placed all humans in dire straits and removed all traces of wealth or privilege some, like Ellen, clung to ancient titles in vague hopes of retaining power. Along with her bodyguard, Elrich, a boy from a line of knights, Ellen acted as if she was Queen of the Initiates; in fact, most of the young warriors despised her and others like her, though now and then other former nobles and lower-class youths hoping to perhaps gain a glimpse of the upper class flocked to her side.

"Judging by the expression on your face, I assume _her majesty_ wasn't kind, eh?" Daniel Chenwit chuckled as Delilah returned to stand beside the other paladins and priests in-training.

"As expected," Delilah muttered. "It's for her own good that I tell her; if she acts that way later when an officer comes to rouse her she'll surely be reprimanded."

"If she's lucky," Johnathan Sutter replied, his Hillsbrad accent entering the conversation. "In any army dissenters are punished, sometimes with more than stern word."

"Let's talk about something else," Eliza Fairbrooks said. "What do you think the mission today will be?"

"You will soon find out," the voice of Sergeant Matthias startled the assembled initiates, causing a few of them to jump or cry out in surprise. "Come, gather your effects, we're moving out in fifteen minutes.

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The Scarlet Initiates had marched through the forests of Tirisfal for two hours before reaching their destination. They had all been instructed to remain as silent as possible; it was best to utilize every advantage possible, and the element of surprise would surely prove useful.

None of them knew exactly what they would be doing, save that it would involve some degree of combat against a force of Undead. Whispered rumors circulated among the initiates of exactly what they would be doing, but they were quickly hushed by their superiors.

Finally, the officers in the front ranks raised their hands in a signal for their charges to halt their advance. They motioned again, pointing forward beyond the cover of the treeline. Fire boiled in the bellies of these green recruits, and seconds later they were charging past the oaks, pines, elms, and maples, rushing headlong into an unknown situation.

As Delilah rushed ahead behind the forces in front of her, she felt a wave of energy and excitement. At last the time had come to prove herself and begin her quest of vengeance. As she entered the clearing before her, she saw she was already entering a melee. Before her was a pond with a series of small bushes clustered around it with a few score tents nearby indicating a campsite; the pond's water was stagnant, yet here and there initiates splashed as they did battle with humanoid undead. Delilah winced as she witnessed four young warriors slain by a bolt of shadow magic, their flesh melting off their bones as the wicked warlock worked his evil magic. She smiled as she saw the fiendish wizard's chest pierced by a spear from behind.

Wanting desperately to contribute and release her rage, Delilah charged in alongside several other paladins from her battalion. Small bursts of holy energy erupted from hands and weapons as a dozen or so paladins smashed into a force of undead a third their size. Delilah grunted as she wrenched her hammer away from the chest of a foe she had struck, fighting against the exertion that came with true battle.

All around Delilah troops from both sides were slain, yet the Scarlet Crusade truly had the upper hand. Though the initiates were inexperienced they outnumbered the Undead at least ten-to-one. Additionally, the ambush had allowed the young humans to put many of their adversaries to the sword before the rotting warriors could even ready their weapons.

Here and there Undead fled, many of them making it only a few yards before they were brought down by volleys of arrows or blasts of magical energy. Several initiates, afraid of the fighting, also attempted to desert yet met the same fate as the fleeing undead.

_Cowards,_ Delilah thought as she saw two initiates beside her abandon their weapons, only to find themselves beheaded by their former peers. _Do they not realize the day is ours? Perhaps they are merely conspirators with the Undead and realize they will be put to death anyway once this battle is over. _Delilah put them out of her mind as she felt a blade nick her arm. She turned to see a short undead female clutching dual daggers; this enemy jabbed towards Delilah's chest, but the paladin-in-training stepped back, causing the attack to fall short. Delilah roared as she brought her hammer over her head, smashing the skull of the rogue; never before had Delilah been so glad for the extra reach afford by her weapon's haft.

A whistle pierced the scene signaling the initiates to withdraw. Delilah turned and rushed towards the source of the noise, Sergeant Matthias himself.

"The officers will cover the withdrawal, the rest of you make haste back to the Monastery!" Matthias called out.

Many initiates ignored the call, continuing to fight against the few remaining undead. "Why retreat when victory is in our grasp?" Someone called out. As if in answer, the hideous sound of guttural groans and screeches echoed through the clearing. A series of trees burst aside as six massive monsters comprised of sewn together corpses entered the scene. These abominations bore down on the initiates with surprising speed for their girth, rending their enemies with long meat hooks and cleavers or simply crushing the humans with their flab.

"Damn it, I knew if we stayed too long their heavy forces would get word of it," Claudia muttered, fitting a shaft onto her bow and firing the arrow directly into the eye of one of the monstrosities.

"We should be able to take down a few of them and buy enough time for the youngbloods to escape," Matthias said as he rushed towards one of the creatures, sword at the ready. "Cover me!"

Delilah scampered for the trees along with the majority of the other initiates. She turned briefly, and saw a sight which horrified her. Standing not twenty yards away was an abomination in the midst of battling a score of paladins from her battalion. Among them Delilah saw Eliza, Daniel, and Johnathan. Delilah was frozen stock still; she wanted to rush in to aid her friends, but seemed unable to face the monster. She watched in horror as the beast grabbed Daniel in one of its many hands and shoved the lad into its gaping jaws face first. His screams were muffled as he was chomped by the beast which simultaneously crushed another initiate in one of its meaty claws. Johnathan rammed his sword into its stomach, burying the weapon of to its handle but the attack seemed to have no effect. The creature turned towards him and whipped out a chain, strangling the lad and he clawed vainly at the metal encircling his neck. Eliza was the last to die, slashed to bloody ribbons by the beast's rusty cleaver alongside several of her compatriots.

Delilah was flooded by a mix of emotions: guilt, rage, fear, melancholy. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she rushed through the woods, failing to notice Sergeant Matthias gutting an abomination before the beast's body collapsed on top of him, suffocating the gallant leader.

Delilah was not sure how much later she and several hundred other initiates found themselves outside the monastery, their eyes filled with tears, their hearts with wrath.

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"…and so for surviving the battle and showing your mettle, you are all ready to take the next step to becoming a full-fledged Scarlet Crusader," Isillien continued as he paced around the dimly-lit room several floors below the Scarlet Monastery. Initiates sat in rows ringing the center of the circular room, looking down with interest as the Inquisitor spoke. Beside him were a series of oak tables covered with white cloth which hung over lumps of matter. Isillien smiled deviously as he walked over to one of the tables and gripped the sheet. "And so now comes the true test to see if you are ready to be a member of the Scarlet Crusade." The aging man whipped back the cloth to reveal the body of a young undead male wearing only ragged shorts; he was shackled to the table by iron chains and he groaned as Isillien slapped him awake.

"On these tables are prisoners we captured in the attack. They have already been sufficiently….interrogated, shall we say. Some day, some of you may become Inquisitors and help in such a process, but today marks the necessity of another act," Isillien paused, his words hanging heavily in the room, "waste disposal."

Whispers broke the crowds hush before Isillien called out, "SILENCE!" The murmurs dissipated and the mage continued. "Each of you is expected to come down her and put one of these wretched pieces of filth to death. Once you have slaughtered one of these monsters you will be issued a Scarlet Tabard by one of my retainers." Isillien motioned and a series of inquisitors with red hoods covering their heads entered from the shadows, each bearing a crate full of tabards. "Form a line and come one by one, there are more than enough bodies for everyone and more can be brought in from the dungeons as needed."

Delilah needed no more bidding as she rushed down the steps and readied her hammer. She managed to be tenth in line, and soon was directed to one of the tables by one of the lesser inquisitors. The robed Crusader removed the cloth and Delilah looked eagerly at the foe before her. More vengeance would be served.

Yet, as Delilah looked down upon the undead body before her she felt a twinge of remorse. The figure was limp, badly beaten, and appeared to have been damaged by some form of magic. The figure was obviously the resurrected body of a youth, perhaps only a little older than Delilah. It moaned pitifully as Delilah watched its grotesque body writhe in agony. She began to lower her hammer.

And then Delilah remembered her cause. She remembered the hours of training, the screams of her parents, the scene of her only friends in this miserable world brought low by an abomination. Hatred filled her heart as she slammed her hammer into the creature's face, smashing hard enough to splinter some of the table's wood.

Minutes later a tabard as red as the blood of her lost comrades was displayed proudly on her chest.

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"Time to move out," a voice startled Delilah and she opened her eyes to see Adrian's head peeking through the opening in her tent.

Delilah scowled. "Don't you have any manners? It's rude to just enter someone's tent, especially a lady."

"Sorry, I was tasked to rouse this area by Inquisitor Baelin. You could at least say thanks," Adrian muttered as he pulled his head back.

Delilah sighed. She couldn't afford to think about the past any more, especially not now. Currently, she needed to focus on the task ahead: reaching Tyr's Hand and gaining the chance to truly complete her vengeance.

Character Profile: Isillien

Age: 50

Rank: Inquisitor, later Grand Inquisitor

Affiliation: Inquisitor of the Scarlet Crusade, Former Priest of the Holy Light of Lordaeron, former liaison to the Knights of the Silver Hand

Abilities: Isillien is an extremely gifted wizard who can use his powers for healing as well as battle and torture.

Appearance: Isillien is man of late middle-age who is about five feet six inches tall. He has a balding head with salt-and-pepper hair as well as wide, piercing green eyes. He dresses in a red robe as well as the Scarlet Crusade tabard.

HES: Hey all, thanks for the reviews and favorites of the first chapter, I really appreciate the support! Sorry if you were startled by the darkness of this chapter, but this story is about a very dark piece of the Warcraft lore. Anyway, I'm really grateful for all the support you've given me thus far, keep it up! As always leave a review if you'd like to, I always like receiving them even if they are critical; praise and suggestions are equally helpful and appreciated!


	3. Glade

Chapter 3: Glade

The Scarlet Band had hastily packed up camp and continued their march through the woods of Tirisfal as the sun peeked over the horizon. The weather was calm, and a light breeze rustling the foliage was the only noise in the serene clearing. Despite her disconcerting memories replayed through her dreams, Delilah had slept well and felt more energized than she had the past several days, though she still felt somewhat enervated. She had done her best to push out her remorse at the loss of the Monastery and all her compatriots.

The rest had done little to refresh most of the other Crusaders who showed signs of weariness as they trudged between trees and stones. Many had not slept, unable to sleep because of remorse or rage, while others had spent the night praying. Still others had sought to seek vengeance and had set off looking for Undead to slay; a cadre of two dozen or so soldiers from the Carnelian Company had set out on this mission, and fifteen returned bearing six skulls and the remainder of an abomination's cleaver as trophies of victory; Inquisitor Baelin scolded them personally, demoting all involved and warning that such future recklessness could lead to harsh punishments than mere demotion and excoriation.

The company captains, however, seemed to possess more energy, or perhaps a greater drive. None of the four showed any signs of fatigue or weakness as they called to their troops, urging them forward.

"Look lively!" Aurora yelled to her company. "If the Undead show up you'll all be slaughtered in this pathetic condition and besmirch the name of the Crusade! Do not wait for any who fall behind, weakness must be cast off or overcome to purify the Scarlet Band!"

Delilah panted as she trudged up the hill alongside a group of other paladins. Her armor felt heavier than usual, yet she pushed on, her resolve causing her to ignore the pain while simultaneously supplying extra energy. Though none had been given time for breakfast, Delilah, like some other soldiers, had hastily stuffed a biscuit into her mouth when the march first began.

_I'd better enjoy this food while I can_, Delilah thought. _We have little in the way of supplies and it will be difficult to find wildlife and water that hasn't been tainted by the Undead. _Though the scouts occasionally left to search for game, they more often than not returned empty-handed, noting that the creatures they found all exhibited signs of the plague. _Is there no where free of the taint?_

"Halt!" Aurora's voice pierced the air as she gave the command. Her company stopped pace almost immediately, their aching legs seeking any possible respite. "Inquisitor Baelin has just sent a missive informing me that half a mile to the east our scouts found a Forsaken encampment where they are keeping a score of human hostages as test subjects. Their defenders, however, comprise only four dozen or so, and thus it would not only waste manpower to send all of our troops but also it would risk betraying our force to the enemy. Our company has been elected to assault this position, and I have decided that we shall send a force of three score to deal with these foes. The remainder of the Scarlet Band will make camp here and await the return of these forces. I have utilized my powers of Soul Scrying to choose the sixty soldiers I think most fit." Suddenly, five dozen balls of light burst from Aurora's body and flew towards the crowd of troops. One appeared before Delilah and she looked puzzled as it hovered near her face.

"Those of you who hold great potential and hearts truly dedicated to our cause have been given this opportunity to act in our name," Aurora continued.

"How did she know?"

"What are these things?"

"What's going on?"

Voices from the crowd erupted as they admired or cringed at the sight of the glowing orbs.

Aurora glared at the crowd. "Heh, fools, must I explain everything? Soul scrying is a rare ability found in only one of every thousands devotees of the Holy Light. It allows the user to essentially see the energy given off by the souls of any person they look at, allowing one to glimpse the true nature of all around them." Many Scarlet Crusaders shuddered, realizing that this woman truly had the power to glimpse their insecurities and weaknesses. "Those of you that are frightened have reason to be; you do not have enough faith in the cause nor is your strength great enough. I would love to punish you, but Baelin has given me strict orders to tolerate such weakness in hopes that you will find your way sooner rather than later. Now, enough of this prattle, those of you I selected are to march east and crush these sickening monstrosities who dare use _our_ race as test subjects!"

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The column of selected Crusaders marched as silently as possible as they moved through the woods towards their destination. Delilah clutched her mace tightly, ready for any adversary that could appear. She glanced briefly to her left and right, unable to notice any faces she could put names to in her immediate vicinity. Though she had lived as a Scarlet Crusader for almost seven years she had made few friends and, unluckily enough, those she did often wound up dead in battle or transferred to Hearthglen or Tyr's Hand.

"Are you nervous?" Delilah heard someone whisper behind her. Delilah tilted her head to see the source of the voice: the mage, Illana.

"A bit I suppose," Delilah replied as Illana glided to stand beside her. "But, more than anything, I'm fueled by a desire to save those people."

"A you sure it's altruism and not hatred that motivates you?" Illana asked, noting the degree of coldness in Delilah's eyes.

"Perhaps a bit," Delilah replied. "And what drives you?"

"The will to live."

Delilah looked quizzically at Illana, but the mage offered nothing more as silence once again set over the warriors as they saw tents through the trees marking the Forsaken encampment.

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The Scarlet Band's ambush crushed the tranquility of Tirisfal as they rushed past pines and elms towards the Forsaken before them. Bolts of holy magic arced through the air as blades and hammers found their marks in the skulls of the first line of Forsaken defense.

Delilah felt a surge of energy as she slammed her hammer into the back of a Forsaken female wielding a spear. The undead warrior turned just in time to have its face crushed by the swinging maul. Delilah heard a human cry of pain and turned to her right to see a mage that had just taken an arrow to the shoulder. Delilah began chanting a stream of holy words as golden energy curled around her hands before directing the magical strands towards the wounded wizard, slowing the bleeding and closing the wound part way.

The young paladin heard a scream of agony and saw a warrior fall to the ground as a surge of dark magic curled from the fingers of a warlock towards the crusader's chest. More cries of pain filled the air as humans and undead alike were cut down, hacked apart, shot, or blasted with magic.

Suddenly, Delilah became part of the pain. She screamed and winced as she felt a hot twinge move across her lower back, the fiery wound carrying its signal across her entire torso. She turned just in time to see a Forsaken man in dark clothes fading into the shadows among the trees, the glint of his daggers the last thing she saw before he vanished. The pain continued, but Delilah refused to give in; slinging her hammer across her back, she started a chant of healing. Yet, each second seemed to lengthen and her mouth began to feel dry. Soon, her tongue could not even move and her eyes began to flutter shut. Delilah, calling upon her reserves of strength, twisted her heads to glance over her shoulder in an attempt to see the wound and gasped, horrified, before collapsing to the ground

There had been two liquids dripping from her wound: one red, one green. The knives had been coated with poison.

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"Ah, fresh blood," the cracking voice cackled. Delilah's eyes opened groggily. _Am I…still alive? How? _She thought as she gazed around herself.

Delilah, along with several dozen other humans, was lying in a filthy dungeon cell. Many of the people nearby her were Scarlet Crusaders, but many others were dressed in rags or various assortments of commoner clothes. _They must be the hostages we were sent to rescue,_ Delilah realized. _It's ironic that we've been thrown in with them._ Delilah gasped as she saw Illana, unconscious, with several beetles crawling across her robes and skin. _At least she's alive and not awake to see this horrid place. _

The room itself was large, but because of the mass of bodies there was little space for anyone. The walls were covered with lichen and mold, and the air stank of decay. Here and there rats scurried about or nibbled on bones that were disconcertingly humanoid.

Outside the cell stood a group of Forsaken wearing long, black robes which carried a mauve symbol which resembled a skull being soaked in some liquid poured by a vial above it. There faces were masked by hoods, so the only bits of skin Delilah was able to see were their bony, decaying hands. Each of the undead seemed to be in the midst of conducting an experiment: some mixed brightly colored chemicals in vials, while others sprinkled powder on pieces of freshly dead flesh, while still others sawed bones apart and placed them onto a steel tray.

"Yes, new test subjects are always nice," another of the Forsaken stated as he poured a vial of vermillion liquid into a beaker of what appeared to be blood. As the liquids touched, they precipitated, forming an odd brittle solid. The undead man smiled, pleased with his work. "It looks like we are getting closer to the solution. Lady Sylvanas will be pleased."

"Aye, kir nicht gotter damuz frieshun?" Another of the Undead said, pointing to the prisoners.

"It's all right, Melinda," the second speaker said, "we can speak Common here. I much prefer it to that bastardized Gutterspeak. Besides, it isn't as if they haven't already figured out what we're up to. Even if they do, the outcome of our experiments is inevitable."

"If only we all could be as confident as you, Grayus," the one called Melinda muttered. "I don't see how you and Hale can be so relaxed." As she spoke, she pointed to the first Forsaken whose laughter had awoken Delilah.

"We have seen more than you can imagine, young Melinda," Hale replied, once again laughing inappropriately. "Life as a researcher can be so dull at times. I miss that battle we had at the Monastery not long ago, amazing that a few of those wretches managed to escape."

"Well, once we round up the last few the Crusade will be no more, and half our troubles will be gone," Grayus said.

_Ha, fools! _ Delilah thought. _Even _if _they kill us here, they certainly will have no chance against the remainder of the Scarlet Band, nor Tyr's Hand! What they speak of is a pipe dream! Their rotted brains must have destroyed their sense of logic. _

"So when shall we begin?" Another Forsaken asked, turning to the trio. "I want to start the next phase of experiments."

"Yes, the sooner the better!" Hale cackled, waving his hands in the air and causing him to spill a corrosive liquid which ate through some of the floor's stones.

"Watch what you're doing, Hale!" Melinda scolded.

"Calm down everyone," Grayus said, stepping into the midst of the assemblage. "We are not to initiate the next round of experiments until High Apothecary Dextra arrives. She is set to arrive tomorrow at noon. Now, get back to work, she will be here before you know it."

_We have some time then, at least, _Delilah noted as she watched the vile researchers continue their hideous experiments. _The only question is, how much time? _There were not windows in the room, so Delilah was unsure how long the poison had knocked her out. A few hours? A day? It was difficult to tell. Obviously, the Undead ha preferred to keep the Scarlet Band members as test subjects rather than kill them; Delilah noted that the majority of the force dispatched by Captain Aurora was present, the few missing having obviously died in the previous struggle. _Then again, they will kill us eventually…or worse, turn us into something like _themselves. Delilah shuddered at the mere thought. _No, that will not happen. I will let myself die before I become a slave to that curse. There must be some way out of this._

At the moment, Delilah could see no possible course of action. The prisoners were stripped of weapons, though oddly enough the Forsaken had not looted their armor, perhaps fearing that the clothing of such holy warriors would burn their skin or bring them ill luck. The humans outnumbered their guards, but Delilah had the feeling that even the Undead would not be foolish enough to leave prisoners unattended; she saw their captors held no weapons, save for laboratory tools, yet she assumed they probably carried armaments under their robes or were users of the magical arts.

_Perhaps magic will be the key to our escape_, thought Delilah. She began to whisper a string of holy syllables, but could feel no energy coursing through her, no power rushing through her entire being. _Has the Light abandoned me? Impossible! _Suddenly, Delilah noticed that the walls and floor of the cell were glowing an eerie shade of electric cerulean.

"It appears another one of them is trying to use magic," Hale guffawed, eyeing Delilah. "It's pointless, girl, this chamber has been modified with a protective enchantment which absorbs all magic unless…"

"Just tell them everything, Hale," Melinda sighed. "See, this is why we should stick to Gutterspeak."

As the Forsaken scientists continued to bicker, Delilah sighed. It seemed there may be no way out of her enclosure. She refused to give up, however, and clasped her hands, offering a prayer of salvation to the Light.

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"It has been two days, Aurora, don't you think we should send a party after them?" Captain Warren, a mage and leader of the Coral Company, asked, standing beside his peer. "This mission is holding up the rest of our troops; we cannot afford to stay still for too long."

"Let me handle my men, you worry about your own," Aurora snorted, turning away from the middle-aged wizard. "They will return, I can sense it. This is a test of their resolve, their power, their faith; to aid them now would destroy their confidence and leave us with little more than disposable soldiers. To allow them to survive this encounter on their own will give us veterans."

"How can you be so sure they will succeed?" Warren asked, pushing his silver-bearded face closer to Aurora. The Paladin withdrew, he face twisting as she avoided the man's gaze.

"Because I have faith in the Light. You'd best find some yourself, or you won't be able to endure what will surely come."

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"Kampfor destuk, sek!" A breathless Forsaken spluttered as he burst into the laboratory. Instantly, the researchers stopped their activities and fell to their knees, bowing their heads in reverence. Delilah and the other humans who still held consciousness looked on, their faces twisted into confusion.

A series of sharp clicks echoed off the decaying masonry as a trio of figures entered the room. The most eye-catching of the three was the one who stood in the middle: she was a tall Forsaken woman who wore robes similar to the assembled researchers, but her clothing was more ornate, with silver lines on the sleeves and bronze ornaments in the shape of bones dangling from the hem. Her face was mostly covered by a hood, and only her long, jagged nose peeked out. Beside her were two subordinates who wore similarly ornate robes which lacked the charms of their apparent leader; they, too, had their faces covered by hoods.

"Furuk, Dextra!" One of the researchers called, which the others repeated immediately. When this chant was finished, the female in the center of the trio beckoned for those assembled to rise. Grayus, one of the first to stand, rushed before her.

"Ah, Dextra, so good to see you," Grayus said, smiling to reveal a row of ground down teeth.

"Do not patronize me, Grayus," Dextra scoffed, "and do not act so familiar. Lady Sylvanas likes underlings to know their place."

"Heh, you know as well as any that you are inches from losing your position and I am next in line," Grayus replied. Though none could see her face, everyone assumed Dextra was scowling; she began to mutter something before Grayus cut her off. "Anyway, that is not the reason we are here today. Contrary to your paranoid belief that I may be trying to sabotage you, Alain and the boys managed to capture these fine specimens that await your use."

"Good, good," Dextra's crackling voice answered as she waltzed towards the enclosure to inspect the humans. "They are in good health, no marks of the plague whatsoever. If that's the case, I say we take them to the Undercity directly so that we can have the entire Grand Apothecary Laboratory at our disposal."

"Gwahaha," Hale burst out laughing. "You honestly believe we will waste the time to take them all the way _there_. Surely, they would die on the way. Humans are such fragile things."

"I believe I gave an order," Dextra growled, turning to Hale. "If you value your job, and better your life, you'd best not test me. Now, I want this facility temporarily decommissioned. All of you are to accompany me in escorting these subjects to the Undercity. From there I will decide what to do with them next. Sal!" Dextra snapped, turning to one of her accomplices. "Go rouse the garrison; we will need them as well. Now, let's get these humans bound so we do not waste a minute."

Delilah gritted her teeth as she watched the researchers enter the cell, their hands clasping rusted lengths of chain. One by one the humans had their arms bound behind their backs; those that were asleep or on the floor were roused violently, struck with the chain or jabbed by a scalpel. Jason Lightrend, a Crusader Delilah knew in name only, punched the researcher who came to chain him; the Forsaken scientist reeled from the blow, but recovered quickly and wrapped his chain around the man's neck, strangling him. Jason writhed and fell to the ground, clawing at the metal as the sadistic undead laughed. The decaying villain slackened the chain just seconds before Jason would have left the world, leaving the man gasping horribly.

"Let this be a lesson to all of you," Dextra said as she watched the scene. "We are Glade, a subsidiary of the Royal Apothecary Society, and we are not to be trifled with. There are reasons Sylvanas keeps our existence even from our own brethren. The better you act now, the less suffering you may endure later."

Delilah wanted to roar at Dextra, or spit in her general direction, but thought better of it, instead allowing her hands to be tied. As the metal wrapped around her wrists, Delilah pulled her hands apart slightly; it was a simple trick, to be sure, but it went unnoticed by the undead. That tiny bit of room she had made for herself would be a boon if she ever hoped to escape from this…filth.

"Come now, let's get these prisoners marching," Dextra rasped. "The Undercity is in dire need of fresh subjects."

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The column of captured humans and Forsaken guards had been marching for several hours and at last the sun had begun to set, casting a warm yet dreary scarlet aura to descend upon the figures. Though at times one or two of the men and women would slow down and attempt to rest, they were swiftly disciplined by the haft of a guard's spear and forced to continue marching. The Undead seemed to never tire, their bodies possessed of an unholy energy that allowed them to continue far beyond the limitations of a human body.

Now and then some of the captives would attempt to strike up a conversation with one another, but these too were silenced by strikes from the guards. Delilah assumed that the Forsaken feared giving away their position or wasting unnecessary time.

_They are clever, I'll give them that_, Delilah thought as she squinted in the light of the setting sun. _They barely have two score guards, there is no way they could hope to stand up to even a fraction of the Scarlet Band._

Delilah's stomach growled raucously as she took several more steps. She was unsure how long it had been since her last meal, but her captors had failed to provide even a crust of bread or scrap of meat. _If they want use all healthy when we arrive, they cannot honestly think starving us is a good idea. Unless…unless that is part of their grisly experiment as well._

Delilah noticed two of her allies from the Crimson Company bending down to grasp some leaves from the forest floor. They chewed them briefly before spitting them out, making sure their refuse did not land near one of the guards. Delilah hated to see such desperation, but admitted that she saw little alternative for sustenance in these barren lands. The young paladin sighed, as her eyelids began to flutter shut; she also had not slept in awhile, though again she was unsure how much time had passed.

"Keep moving, human wench," a gruff voice followed by a strike from the flat of a sword-blade on her back snapped Delilah out of her drowsiness. She glanced over her shoulder to see the Forsaken soldier; his entire form was clad in rusting and decrepit armor, save for his helmet which appeared newer. This piece of armor was somewhat polished and in the midst of the iron casing an engraved "L" of Lordaeron stuck out.

_Those bastards, how dare they besmirch the name of Lordaeron by wearing symbols of that glorious nation,_ Delilah's heart burned as she turned to face forward and continued her trek. _I swear he will be the first I kill if I can escape._

Delilah, however, realized that such a tactic was futile, at least for the foreseeable future. She was unarmed, and, despite leaving the cell, felt herself unable to call upon magic. Most likely the scientists carried some sort of magic dampener, or had infused the chains with a spell similar to the cell walls. Either way, Holy Magic was not a viable option at this point.

Silence once again descended on the moving column, save for the occasional crunch of leaves or twigs underfoot and the clank of armor. Now and then the guards would exchange a few words in Gutterspeak, but for the most part they remained silent.

"Khalen, ket nah!" A voice echoed from the front of the column. Delilah, who was near the middle, was unable to see what the cry was about. A series of small thudding sounds followed by a few much larger ones ricocheted off the trees. Delilah turned to her right to see a Forsaken guard crawling across the ground, two arrows lodged in each leg and another in his back; a final shaft flew from behind a bush and planted itself in the warrior's skull, ending his unlife.

More and more arrows poured from the trees, felling Forsaken after Forsaken. The soldiers unsheathed weapons and rushed towards the tree cover where the shots originated from, but most were slain before reaching the quarry. Most of the researchers began to panic, their shows of bravado from the laboratory long gone. Grayus and Hale moved towards Dextra, and the three erected a magical barrier around themselves as protection against the hail of projectiles.

Then, from behind the trees, groups of Scarlet Scouts emerged, some clutching the heads of unlucky foes who had managed to make it to the underbrush only to find themselves slain at point-blank range. These archers roared cries of "For the Crusade!" "Death to the Undead!" "Long live Lordaeron!" as their massed fire into the few remaining Forsaken.

This bold move, however, would be to the Forsaken's advantage. Dextra, Grayus, Hale, and Dextra's personal escort all fired blasts of dark magic into the force of Scarlet Scouts. Some were blasted apart, while others were stripped down flesh, reduced to nothing more that standing skeletons before crumbling to dust. The scouts continued their advance, however, some freeing prisoners as they went while others drew short swords and dirks while moving towards the magical shield. The shield, Delilah surmised, only protected from ranged attacks, and so was permeable to close quarters fighting. As if a confirmation of this theory, Delilah noticed Dextra conjuring a sphere of shimmering amethyst energy between her palms as the armed scouts neared the undead.

"You may have stopped us today, but you have merely delayed the inevitable!" Dextra called out as the energy in her hands distorted into an ellipse before turning into onyx smoke which surrounded the High Apothecary and the other Undead behind her shield. "We of Glade will not forget this action. The Crusade was always doomed, but now we will make you all pay a thousand fold. Death is too good for you all, be ready for a life of misery, pain, torture, and horror. You'll each wish for death a million times: I guarantee it." As her speech ended, the smoke and magical shield dissipated, leaving nothing where the members of Glade once stood.

Delilah smiled as she felt her chains loosened. She turned to thank her savior and instantly her expression of delight turned to a scowl of disgust.

"Nice to see you too, Delilah," Adrian said sarcastically. "I know you are not fond of me, but you could at least thank me for putting this all together."

"You…did all of this?" Delilah asked. "Hard to believe."

"Well, it's true," Adrian responded. "You were all gone for five days, and Baelin ordered the march to continue. Aurora refused to send aid despite pleas from the troops, so I helped assemble a team of scouts and we headed off to find you all."

"Thanks for saving us, but Aurora will punish you severely for this," Delilah noted.

"I'm not afraid, she hates me enough as is," Adrian said. "In general, she sees scouts as below herself, or at least it seems that way to me. If anything, she will just assign us to a dangerous mission, but after doing this there isn't much that could scare me."

"Idiot," Delilah replied, "do you even realize she killed her own _siblings_ for showing weakness? Aurora isn't to be trifled with!"

"Well, would you rather we all left you to die? Or be part of some hideous experiment?"

"N..no," Delilah stammered. "It's just that…I do not want anyone else to suffer on my account."

"Hm, I guess that means you care about me, even if only a little," Adrian stated.

"No, I care about the cause, and if we lose troops that will cripple the Crusade," Delilah shot back. "Anyway, I have had enough of being a prisoner, let's head back to the Scarlet Band…you do know the way, I assume?"

"Of course," Adrian replied, "we scouts are excellent trackers and movement calculators. It should be little trouble to find them. In fact, we are probably half a day's march ahead of them judging by the routes they used versus our movement through the forest. We can catch up to them in a few hours if you all have no qualms about moving at night."

"Good, so long as we aren't stranded," Delilah answered. She walked away from Adrian and saw the body of the guard who had struck her lying limp on the ground, half a dozen arrows protruding from his chest. "Damn, I guess someone else was the lucky one." She removed the warrior's helmet and found a nearby ditch where other Crusaders were laying the bodies of the fallen. Delilah tossed in the helmet seconds before one of the scouts threw a torch into the pit to ensure their fallen comrades were not turned into Undead. Delilah sighed as she walked away from the blaze and towards the members of the Scarlet Band who were assembling to return towards the bulk of their forces.

Delilah had now seen first hand the dungeons of the Forsaken, heard of their hideous experiments, and seen that they had planned for something truly sinister. She clenched her fists as she thought of what horrible things were happening to humans in their clutches. Already, the freed refugees were thanking the Scarlet Scouts; some of these humans even appeared to show an interest in joining the Scarlet Band. Though they had gained a new adversary, they had also gained new allies and knowledge of what was occurring. Delilah knew what had to be done; her mission had not changed, merely her objectives had increased. The Forsaken's Glade needed to be purged.

Character Profile: Adrian Loksey

Age: 19

Rank: Mid-ranked Scarlet Scout, de facto leader of a group of scouts within the Scarlet Band

Affiliation: Member of the Scarlet Band's Crimson Company, formerly a member of the 11th Scouting Battalion

Abilities: Adrian is a fairly skilled archer, though by no means an expert marksman. He fights using a longbow or, when in close quarters, a short sword. His close combat abilities are good for a scout, but fairly poor when compared to the average melee fighter in the Scarlet Band.

Appearance: Adrian is five feet seven inches tall and has an average build. His hair is black and his eyes are light brown. He wears a red tunic and pants, as well as the Scarlet Crusade Tabard. Occasionally, Adrian will wear a dark green tunic to blend in with his surroundings, though more often he merely covers the red in his outfit with leaves, twigs, and other natural objects to disguise his appearance.

HES: Hey all, sorry this update took awhile, but I've been quite busy! I will do my best to update more frequently in the coming weeks! Thank you all for your reviews, your feedback has been appreciated and really motivates me to work harder! I appreciate all the reviews you've given me, and as always I love to hear what you think about my story, good, bad, or neutral! Thanks in advance for the reviews and I hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	4. Repentance

Chapter 4: Repentance 

"It seems the mission has failed," Inquisitor Baelin sighed as he addressed the assembled captains. The quintet of commanders had marshaled in a clearing half a mile away from the major encampment in an attempt to avoid eavesdropping.

"Well done, Aurora," Warren said sarcastically, clapping slowly. "It seems your 'faith' has truly led to a successful endeavor."

"Shut your mouth," Aurora snapped, turning towards the aging mage, "or I'll slaughter you where you stand." In a flash Aurora had drawn her holy hammer, _Uther's Arm_, and began to summon holy magic. Warren smiled as he conjured his own energy, summoning orbs of flame which circled around his wrists.

"Stop this nonsense immediately!" Baelin barked, stepping between the two captains. "The last thing our organization needs is a civil war!"

"Yes, the Inquisitor's words are true," Captain Elric, leader of the Cinnabar Company, interjected. Elric's face appeared relaxed despite the tension in the air, his blue eyes calm behind his spectacles. "We must respect the wishes of our commander."

"And that is what I _did_," Aurora sneered, "it was Baelin's idea, not mine, to assault the Forsaken encampment."

"Would it have been better if we had just left those captives to become pawns of the Forsaken?" Baelin asked.

"Of course not," Aurora replied, "which is why I complied with your order post-haste."

"Are you implying you would have waited or refused to follow an order you did not agree with?" Baelin asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You are all missing the point," Warren cried, "Aurora has cost us troops and time; had she attacked more strategically instead of sending a small force of green soldiers then perhaps we would not be in this predicament. Every day we waste waiting our chances of dying in the wild increase. Our mission carries not only the hopes of Whitemane and the Crusade but also the hopes of all Lordaeron. To fall here…"

"We all know the ramifications of failure," Captain Sonja sighed as she lazily tossed her long, burgundy hair over her shoulders. "Honestly, we have all heard this speech more than enough."

"Sometimes, Sonja, I think you fail to grasp exactly _why_ we exist. Honestly, Baelin, why did you give this fool such a high position?" Aurora spat.

"And here I was actually trying to support you," Sonja said, shaking her head and lifting her hands up. "Honestly, Aurora, I cannot understand why you are so cold."

"Cold? If you think my desire to purge the Undead and uphold the tenets of the Scarlet Crusade is cold then you may as well _let_ yourself become one of _them_." Aurora fumed as she stomped towards Sonja.

"Aurora, no more of this!" Baelin declared, once again standing in the other Paladin's way. "We need to retain order, here. Your soldiers look to you for inspiration and guidance, if you all continue to act like children the Scarlet Band will fracture or falter."

"Understood…Inquisitor," Aurora said, slowly, as she backed away from Sonja. "I apologize for my outburst and for my failure. I will not make the same mistake again. The Crimson Company will be ready to move out whenever you command."

"Yes, Warren is right," Baelin replied, "we cannot afford to wait much longer. It has been almost a week since the troops were dispatched; by my count they should have taken no more than several days to successfully assault such a position, if that. We must now trust their fate to the Light. Assemble your companies, we march in two hours."

"As you order," Warren said, turning away.

"By your command," Sonja stated, leaving the clearing.

"Understood," Elric's voice followed as he left Baelin's side.

Aurora merely nodded and turned away. When they had all left the clearing Baelin sighed, spat on the ground, and shook his head.

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The march to rejoin the bulk of the Scarlet Band had been fairly short and uneventful, only lasting a few hours. Though it was evening, the scouts and various members of the Crimson Company, along with the newly freed captives, encountered no undead. Now and then, a wail or moan from far off would alert the group, causing the crusaders to finger weapons and ready spells while the refugees shivered.

What few words were exchanged were in hushed tones, and only important things were said. Adrian had taken charge of the small force and led from the front, directing several scouts as direct subordinates to carry orders to others. Though Delilah did not like Adrian as a person, she had to admit he was a fairly able commander. As she was unarmed, Delilah had been assigned as a secondary healer for the center column. Delilah had been happy to have Illana assigned as a guardian; the paladin and mage smiled upon seeing one another, but could only exchange a simple greeting in such circumstances.

"Look, yonder!" One of the scout's voices echoed from the front of the column. Instantly, vigor filled the men and women as they rushed toward the source of the man's jubilation. As the group came over the rise of a hill, they saw a cluster of building below them. The oaken walls were rotting, while the bricks of the chimneys were coated with moss and lichen, the sickly greens and grays making the once beautiful red a pale shadow of times long past. The fields were long fallow and produced only a crop of saffron-colored weeds that drooped in a melancholy fashion.

The humans wasted no time as they rushed down the hill, breaking off into small groups to investigate the several buildings on the property. "It looks like this farm has been empty for quite some time," Adrian said, as he motioned for some of his closest companions to follow him towards the barn.

"Yes, probably abandoned because of the plague scare," a female scout with an eyepatch over her left eye replied. "Or, perhaps the occupants succumbed to the dreaded disease."

"Keep that in mind," Adrian answered, "we must be cautious here; we already made a fair bit of noise just coming down the hill. Let's search for supplies and see if we can camp here for the evening. As much as I would like to press on, the prisoners we freed are tired and we do not want to have them die of exhaustion."

A series of whoops and cheers echoed from the storehouse as a group of Scarlet Crusaders emerged bearing various prizes; they carried sacks of flour and cornmeal, barrels of pickled vegetables, and crates of cured meat. The lucky men and women discovered a cache of preserved food that appeared free of taint, as well as four casks of fine wine; though some of the rowdier soldiers tried to tap the barrels, Adrian, upon hearing the cries of joy, rushed out and admonished them. "If we do not want to get in _too_ much trouble, I say we give these to our officers as a gift." His subordinates hastily agreed, realizing surviving until they rejoined the Scarlet Band was probably the least of their worries. "Also, keep quiet everyone. I have decided that we will rest in the farmstead for the night before carrying on at dawn. It would be unwise if we attracted the attention of the Undead or the beasts of the forest."

Delilah, meanwhile, searched the house with Illana while the others gathered and sorted supplies. As they entered the run down cottage, both ladies were startled by the door falling off its hinges and crashing to the floor sending dust and chips of wood into the air. Delilah coughed briefly as Illana summoned a small gust to blow away the particles as the two surveyed the building. The house was in even more disrepair than the rest of the farm; the first floor consisted of two rooms and, though stairs once led to a second floor, in their place now was merely a short, rotted length of elm railing. Illana searched the foyer, while Delilah headed to the back room which appeared to be a study.

As Delilah entered the small room, she was startled by its smell; a dank stench emanated from the walls themselves, an odor that did not seem to pervade the rest of the house. The sparse chamber was furnished with a chair and a desk which, somehow, had managed to survive the decay that had stricken most of the home's wood. There were no windows, so she called forth a small ball of light energy to light her way. As the shimmering orb danced atop her palm, Delilah felt drawn to the desk; she pulled back the chair and took a seat, hoping that the wood was not rotted enough to crack beneath her. As Delilah sat down, she noticed a small, black object in the center of the table. She reached towards it with her free hands and, upon inspection, found that it was a leather-bound tome with a rusted bronze lock on its side. Though once this piece of metal may have been sufficient for keeping unwanted eyes from the book, Time had worked to weather away most of the metals strength and it was easy for Delilah to snap the metal with a strong tug. With the lock gone, the book was free for Delilah's inspection. She smiled eagerly as she opened the first page, only to have her expression turn to one of anger: it appeared that the majority of the pages had suffered water damage, most likely from storm-water entering the holes in the walls and ceiling. Most of the script was too smudged to read, though Delilah could make out a word here and there. She flipped furiously until, as luck would have it, she stumbled upon a page towards the back of the book that was almost fully legible:

_Late Autumn, Year 615 (?) of the Lordaeron Calendar_

_Blast, I can't remember for a damn the day or the year. Each rise and set of the sun seems to meld together for me, and sometimes I wonder if time itself has also turned its back on us. Surely, we are damned._

_Yesterday, a family of four, a husband, wife, and their twin babies, arrived at our home and begged for food. We are lucky to have saved so much over the past few years; the fields have been terribly fallow this season. The parents told me that they were forced to flee their hometown when it was attacked by the Undead; the man's brother, a member of the local militia, stayed behind to fight in order to buy time for the others. We are all sure he is dead, and pray he has not become a servant of the unholy ones._

_Truly, we have been forgotten. Where are the Knights of the Silver Hand, those paladins who claim they mete out justice, slaughtering the vile and saving the innocent? Where are the armies of Lordaeron to fight the Undead? What of our allies in the south? Of Stormwind? Stromgarde? Kul Tiras? Even Gilneas! Damn them all, the Alliance is no more._

_I have heard word that a new order of holy warriors has begun to gain steam under the guidance of a man known as Mograine. Should the rumors be true that they will come to these lands I will surely give my life to serve them. I would give anything to fight for Lordaeron; it is a cause worth dying for. Our kingdom has stood for…and it will not fall to…_

The rest of the writing became too spotty for Delilah to make out, but she narrowed her eyes as she finished reading. Yes, the Alliance had failed against the Undead, but the Crusade would succeed in their stead. Delilah grabbed the page, tore it out, and stuffed it between her chainmail and breastplate. _Whoever wrote this had faith in the Scarlet Crusade; I will carry this sheet to honor that spirit._

"Find anything useful?" Delilah jumped and fell off the chair as the voice startled her. "Oh, I'm sorry, are you all right?" Illana gasped, rushing over to help her friend to her feet.

"I'm fine," Delilah replied, wiping dust off her tabard. "And no, there's nothing useful here. Were you able to retrieve anything?"

"Well, it is not much," Illana whispered as she stretched out her hand and uncurled it, "but I found this." In the center of Illana's palm was a small, silver ring with an opal placed in the band's center. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," Delilah answered, also in a hushed tone. "Why are you being so secretive about it?"

"Well…I…" Illana stammered. "N..never mind," the mage quickly closed her hand and thrust the ring into her pocket.

"Ok, you needn't tell me if you do not wish to," Delilah said. "Come, let's leave this place and see what the rest of the group is up to."

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"Whaddaya mean, no fya?" One of the refugees asked, his Alterac accent causing some to narrow their eyes in hatred.

"Loksey's orders," the young scout replied as he pointed to the barrels of food. "Besides, we have enough food that is good enough raw."

"But why can't we have a fire?" Another one of the recently freed prisoners cried, stamping her foot and sending dust into the air. "Night is closing in and it's getting chilly!"

"Shouldn't the answer be obvious?" Another scout sighed. "Honestly, the stupidity of some of you bumpkins is amazing."

"Now now, calm down Ivan," Adrian appeared, wagging an index finger at his subordinate. "The reason we cannot have a fire, good sirs and madams, is that the light and smoke may attract the eyes of the Undead. You will just have to make do with some of the tarps and extra clothes we found around the property. I do not like it either, but it would be worse if we had to stave off an attack. Anyway enough talk, let's eat!"

Adrian and the other Scarlet Crusaders opened several crates and barrels and began to dole out food amongst the group. The refugees, having been sustained on moldy bread and suspicious mushrooms during their time with Glade, eagerly wolfed down the morsels given to them. Though some of the Crusaders whispered about overconsumption, Adrian admonished them. "This may be the best meal they have eaten in months, maybe years for some of them. Do not deny them this opportunity. It will also make use appear better in their eyes, and maybe even help convince some of them to join our cause."

Delilah grabbed several crackers and a pickled beet before taking a seat on the ground. She wrinkled her nose as she bit into the beet, but found the taste to be somewhat better than she expected, if not spectacular. Illana, bearing two jugs of cider, sat beside Delilah and handed her one of the containers. Her throat parched from the dry crackers and long march, Delilah was eager to gulp down some of the amber liquid.

"The Light really does seem to be watching over us," Illana said, her voice slow and almost mystical-sounding. "We were lucky that we could find this place."

"Mhm," Delilah mumbled between mouthfuls. She finished her current bite and spoke, "I just hope we can rejoin the Scarlet Band soon. I feel somewhat frightened to be honest…with Inquisitor Baelin around I just felt so…safe."

"He's a strong man, to be sure," Illana replied, nodding her assent, "but we have to rely on ourselves, too. Our organization is nothing without its soldiers."

"True, but with what we have here we aren't much of a match for anything beyond a small raiding party," Delilah said.

"Well, I don't think we'll have to worry," Illana said. "And anyway, if Adrian's right we should be able to meet up with them sometime tomorrow."

"The sooner the better."

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Night had fallen and already many of the exhausted refugees had fallen asleep. Some had retired to the buildings, but others were content to just lie in the center of the fields, their blankets and the soft soil offering a small degree of comfort.

Adrian had divided the present forces into two watch groups, each one taking a four hour shift. When dawn arrived, they were going to once again move out; Adrian estimated that a solid two hour march in the morning would bring their party into contact with the Scarlet Band.

Adrian, Delilah, and Illana all were part of the first watch. It was a chilly evening, and the Scarlet Crusaders shivered in the somber wind. The watches had to be organized efficiently, as the recently freed soldiers were unarmed and there was no way to procure true weaponry for them. Some scouts had, however, located some tools in a shed and had provided them as improvised weapons.

"You honestly expect me to fight with a shovel?" Delilah asked quizzically as Adrian handed her the oak-hafted tool.

"What's the problem? You use a mace usually, they can both be used for bludgeoning!"

"I fight with a _hammer_, and even so, this thing looks like it will crack the first time I swing it."

"I doubt you will even need to use it, so don't worry," Adrian replied. "Just focus on healing if fighting breaks out and only fighting if absolutely necessary."

The scouts had been evenly divided between the two watches, as had any Scarlet Crusaders with magical skill. Some of the scouts patrolled the edges of the farmstead while the other troops formed a circle around the buildings and resting place of the refugees.

Delilah, exhausted from the days' march, had taken a seat on a fallen log near the barn's southern wall. She sat there, silently, alone, gazing at the millions of stars and twin moons of Azeroth's night sky. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a figure appear and sit down on the far end of the log.

"Evening," Adrian's voice greeted her.

"Hello," Delilah said noncommittally.

"Enjoying the scenery?"

"As much as I can," Delilah sighed, "Lordaeron has lost much of its beauty. A long time ago you'd hear owls at this time of year, I found their hoots soothing; their disappearance is an illustration of how much comfort has disappeared from these lands."

"True enough," Adrian said, "but in a way I like silence. It's better than hearing the screams of the dying…" Adrian paused and then closed his eyes and waved his hands back and forth. "Uh…s..sorry, probably shouldn't have brought those things up!"

"It's fine," Delilah's reply was cold. "Anyway, we should focus on defense, as you said earlier making too much noise is a bad idea."

"Yes, I'd best continue my rounds," the scout leader muttered, pushing his hands on his knees as he stood up. "Stay safe."

Without another word Adrian walked off.

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"It's a raid!"

"We're under attack!"

"Defend the southern buildings!"

Cries from the Scarlet Crusaders rang through the darkness of Tirisfal, many drowned out by the wicked cackling of the Undead and the endless clatter of skeletal hooves. Already the storehouse had caught fire, and it seemed the barn was not far behind. Delilah grabbed her shovel and rushed southwards towards the screams of her allies.

As Delilah arrived at the southern part of the farmstead she saw a horrible sight: a score of Forsaken rode back and forth across the fields, torches clutched in their skeletal grips. The flames left the Undead hands one by one, sailing through the air to land on buildings or unlucky warriors. A few Scarlet Crusaders armed with pitchforks had attempted to emulate a pike wall to halt the charge, but most were ridden down, the farming implements unable to pierce the horses' barding or the riders' armor. As these men were crushed under hoof, a volley of arrow sailed towards the ghastly horsemen and knocked several from their saddles. Blasts of magic accompanied these attacks, these holy flames searing some of the Undead to little more than ash.

Meanwhile, other Crusaders and the refugees had taken to staving off the fires. In desperation, a few of the casks or pickled vegetables had been opened and the brine had been used to fight the fire while others rushed to search for water. Now and then some would return bearing filled buckets from a nearby stream which were hastily thrown onto the fire; infected water or not it could at least prevent some of the humans from being incinerated.

Delilah rushed to join the fray, eyeing a foe that was rising from the dust after his steed had been shot from under him. The undead soldier did not notice her; the fall had clearly disoriented him and, having lost his helmet in the fall, was busy rubbing his head. Delilah approached from behind and swung the shovel at full force; the blow struck home and cracked open the Forsaken's skull, sending chips of bone and rotted flesh flying into the air. As Delilah retracted her improvised weapon, she watched solemnly as the end of the haft came apart and the head of the shovel fell onto the Forsaken's corpse.

"I told Adrian it would break," Delilah growled, throwing what remained of the tool to the ground and rushing off to see if she could assist in any other part of the battle.

As Delilah rushed to offer her aid, however, she saw that the conflict had concluded. Several of the Forsaken cavalry had ridden off into the distance, out of range of projectiles and impossible to chase down.

The scene on the farm, however, was far from complete. The bodies of Scarlet Crusaders and refugees alike lined the ground, some without life while others gasped their last few breaths before succumbing to the embrace of death. Some of the Crusaders worked to heal the injured, and Delilah rushed to join them, conjuring healing magic and sending it out in pulses into the body of a middle-aged woman who was shuddering in pain. The woman's eyes were closed, her face contorted into a visage of pain; her hands clawed towards Delilah as the paladin helped to ease her suffering.

"Calm down, calm down," Delilah whispered, "you will be feeling better shortly."

"Thank you, child," the woman gasped, "I thought my time had come. Lately, it seems as if luck has been on our side. We are all truly grateful for what you people have done for us."

"It is our duty to purge the Undead and save the righteous," Delilah replied, "no thanks are necessary."

"I'd almost given up hope for my life and all the world when the Undead first came," the woman continued, "but you…what do you call yourselves again? The Argent Dawn was it?"

"The Scarlet Crusade," Delilah replied, sharply.

"Ah yes, you do good work, we all admire your efforts."

"Thanks," Delilah said. "Now, let me help you towards the others, it seems as if you could use a good meal."

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After taking stock of their casualties and assessing the remaining supplies, the small group of Scarlet Crusaders and human refugees set off once more into the Tirisfal Glades. In all, the living had suffered fourteen deaths with another two dozen heavily wounded despite the application of healing magic or field medicine.

The sun was shaded behind clouds and rain seemed imminent as the men and women trudged across the barren soil. The night's events weighed heavily on their emotions and taxed them physically; only those who collapsed from sheer exhaustion were able to snag a few more hours of precious sleep.

"We need to pick up the pace, it will be a nightmare if we get caught in the rain before reaching the Scarlet Band," Adrian cried out. "I know you're all tired, but we cannot afford to dally!" The scout commander turned and was greeted by a cadre of dreary eyes and slogging bodies. _This may take longer than expected…_

Thunder echoed through the heavens, the rumbling spreading out across all of Tirisfal like the voice of a giant. "Damn it all," Adrian cursed under his breath. "Let's keep moving!" He cried, waving his hands forward. The coming inclement weather seemed to finally have an impact on the crowd, and their pace picked up. _Good, at this rate we should be able to rejoin our forces in a few hours, let's just hope that everything goes well until then._

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Sheets of rain and cheers of joy and surprise greeted the roving group of rescued Crusaders, scouts, and former prisoners of the Forsaken as they came into contact with the Scarlet Band near a polluted-looking pond. Hugs and handshakes were exchanged, as friends and comrades were reunited.

Illana and Delilah clasped one another and cried out excitedly, jumping in the air causing the mud around them to splash onto their clothing. "We made it! We survived!" The mage and paladin cheered as the danced beside their jubilant allies. The duo, along with others, rushed to rejoin their faction, the Crimson Company.

Suddenly, a pall fell over the area, silence seizing the exuberant chortles. All eyes seemed to be drawn to the west where a figure appeared before the assembled members of the Crimson Company. Standing before them, eyes narrowed in rage and body drenched in precipitation, stood Captain Aurora.

"Well, well, well, looks like the mission was a success with few casualties," Aurora stated, her voice venomous. "Yet, things did not go as I wished. You see, I had instructed a select group of you to retrieve the hostages, and yet now I see faces I did not dispatch. What is the meaning of this?"

"M…m'am," one scout stuttered, "we just hoped…"

"No, I will take responsibility," Adrian said, moving from within the crowd towards Aurora. "I was afraid our allies were in danger, so I took it upon myself to rally a force and save them. My actions were rash, but had I done nothing they would all be test subjects in the Undercity at this very moment."

"Silence knave," Aurora roared as Adrian came close to her, slapping him across the face with the back of her hand, drawing blood. "I had faith in the Light that these individuals would be capable of this mission. Whether you had acted or not they would have succeeded. You cost us valuable troops with your little escapade and caused confusion in the Scarlet Band; the officers had to waste our time searching for the missing people before we realized they all had something in common."

"Yes, I only brought scouts with me," Adrian replied, rubbing his cheek and spitting out a broken tooth.

"Not only that, these scouts are close compatriots of yours, Loksey," Aurora continued, circling Adrian as she spoke. "Yet, I sensed it was you long before we had full evidence; my intuition is top notch. I can sense your aura, Loksey; you are not fully committed to the cause, you harbor desire for glory rather than furthering our ends. You act only for your selfish desires and for that you must be…disciplined."

Aurora drew her bastard sword, gripped it tightly with both hands, and lunged at Adrian. The paladin captain was fast, and landed blow after blow with the flat of her blade against Adrian's skull, chest, back, and legs. The youth grunted and wailed as each blow struck home.

"You pathetic little bastard," Aurora cried, "your father, wretch that he was, would at least take the pain like a man." Adrian gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the searing in his flesh and bones as strikes rained upon his body.

The other Scarlet Crusaders stood in awe, unable to move or speak. Aurora's methods, though vicious, were in keeping with the Code of the Crusade. None dared defy their leader, let alone one as powerful and dangerous as Aurora Cronos.

"Repent!" Aurora screamed after each strike, holy fury surrounding the battle-mad paladin.

In a flash, Aurora slammed her sword against Adrian's neck, sending the scout to the ground. She drew back her weapon, tilting it to prep the blade for impact. The clouds seemed to melt away and a holy light began to shine down from heaven upon Aurora, coating her entire body in a shimmering aura.

"I will judge you, Scout Loksey, in the name of the Crusade! Burn in hell, cretin!" The blade sailed downward, water dripping from it to make way for the blood about to be spilled. Illana and many others shut their eyes tightly, while other like Delilah were too stunned to take action.

A loud crash of steel upon steel rang through the clearing, the power of the sound sending ripples through the pond. Aurora grunted, pushing her sword onward, surprised to see Adrian still shuddering on the ground. The captain of the Crimson Company looked to her left to see her sword had been caught by another, and she looked to see Inquisitor Baelin, shield at the ready, clutching the handle of weapon.

"Stop this, Delilah," Baelin ordered. "Sheath your sword and move away from this boy. He requires healing."

"Sir, he betrayed my orders and cost the Scarlet Band valuable time and resources; he also shows a lack of devotion to the cause and will merely handicap our endeavors," Aurora replied, eyes narrowing.

"Be that as it may, he does not deserve such harsh punishment nor death," Baelin answered coldly. "You talk of following orders, yet you defy my requests to stay peaceful. We cannot afford to lose any troops, even ones that you hate. You blame him for costing us troops, but you display hypocrisy when you desire his death."

Aurora sheathed her sword with a word and turned away. "I will see to it he is healed, my apologies, _Inquisitor._"

Baelin sheathed his own weapon and strapped his shield across his back and turned away. "Aurora, we will start the march again in another four hours. Make sure your men are prepared, I have business to attend."

"As you order," Aurora growled. "Franklin! Jerren!" The captain clapped her hands and two priests appeared her side. "See to that boy's injuries." The duo rushed over and began applying healing magic to a groaning Adrian, whispering swiftly to one another as they sealed his wounds.

"Damn it Aurora," Baelin muttered as he stomped away, "why do you insist on such draconian measures? Why do you seek to defy me so?" As the Inquisitor talked to himself, he felt something bump into his back. He wheeled to see Delilah, eyes wide, standing before him.

"I…I just thought I should thank you," Delilah muttered hastily, looking at the ground, "for saving him."

"Think nothing of it," Baelin replied, "it is my duty as leader of the Scarlet Band and as a man. I am glad all of you returned safely, I feared for the worst. Do not worry, your boyfriend will be fine and I will ensure Aurora does not continue acting in this way."

"He's not my boyfriend," Delilah answered, sullenly.

"Oh? Well, at the very least when he started looking at you during his punishment he started to scream less."

"That's probably because he was losing consciousness," Delilah said.

"Regardless, your friend, or whatever he is, will survive," Baelin replied. "Now, I would love to chat but I need to make preparations before out depature." The warrior turned and began striding away before Delilah called after him.

"W…wait sir! I never introduced myself! My name is Delilah Corwin!"

Baelin turned around and smiled. "Thank you for your support, Miss Corwin." Without another word he stomped off. _Corwin? Where have I heard that name before?_

"Call me Delilah!" She yelled, rushing away to rejoin the Crimson Company. _I hope he can remember me, at the very least._

Character Profile: Illana, last name Unknown

Age: 18

Rank: Low ranking Scarlet Mage

Affiliation: Member of the Scarlet Band's Crimson Company, formerly a member of the 1st Magister Battalion

Abilities: Illana is a fairly skilled mage, especially for her age and period of training. She can use holy spells of average complexity and seems to be a fast learner. The extent of her magical knowledge is unknown as she has fought in few battles. She is a poor hand-to-hand combatant though when she has no other choice she fights with a staff.

Appearance: Illana is five feet eight inches tall with a slender body. Her hair is auburn and extends about a quarter of the way down her neck. She has light brown eyes. She wears a red, long-sleeved robe that covers her entire body and masks her feet as well; she does not wear a tabard but instead has the insignia of the Crusade stitched into the chest of her robe.

HES: And so ends another chapter in the tale of the Scarlet Band. Delilah and company have met up with their fellows again, but it seems tensions are on the rise! Anyway, I'd like to once again thank all my reviewers, your feedback is greatly appreciated and desired; I love hearing from you all and your comments, whether praise or criticism are valued and inspire me to work harder! I will do my best to update once a week from now until the end of summer, but I cannot make any promises since life has ways of surprising you. Anyway, I look forward to hearing from you all and I will see you in the next installment!


	5. Prayer

Chapter 5: Prayer

_"You're weak."_

_Adrian Loksey shivered as she stood alone in the field, the crescent moon and a few stars providing the only light in the dreary night._

_"She didn't acknowledge you."_

_"They all hate you."_

_The voices echoed one after another as the scout ran between the trees, bow at the ready to attack whatever might spring at him._

_"Speak, boy, speak! Do not think that your silence increases your stealth here! We can see…all!"_

_Suddenly, Adrian was surrounded by twelve figures, each a shadow of a different shape and sort. Some were humanoid forms, while other resembled beasts and hideous monsters. Adrian fired an arrow at one, but the projectile sailed through the shadowy creature and disappeared into the night._

_"You cannot kill us."_

_One of the figures stepped forward, displaying itself in the light. He was a bald man with a ring of brown hair circling his skull. In each hand he held a small axe and beside him strode a trio of dogs._

_"F…father?" Adrian stuttered. "What is this? Why are you here?"_

_"To punish you, Adrian."_

_The shadows moved forward and one by one foes swarmed over the scout._

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"You ok, Adrian?" A voice asked, waking the black haired archer.

"Yeah…why?" Adrian opened his eyes to see his friend Gareth standing over him, the youth's body tilted to accommodate the cramped tent.

"You were screaming in your sleep, rather loudly in fact," Gareth answered. "A bunch of people rushed over to check on you, but I shooed them away. I gave them some story about a spider biting you."

"Thanks for that," Adrian said sarcastically. "Now anyway I should probably get ready to head out, seems like we break camp earlier and earlier each day."

"Yeah, well, Inquisitor Baelin wants to reach Tyr's Hand as soon as possible. I'm starting to feel that way too; it seems like each day we are out here another few of us get killed." Gareth knelt down beside his friend and looked toward the top of the tent pensively. "Why didn't you take me with you?"

"What?" Adrian seemed briefly confused, the groggy feeling of sleep sticking to his brain as he pushed himself up from his pallet.

"When you went to rescue the prisoners, you took a bunch of scouts, but you never asked me to come with you," Gareth's voice was more sullen than accusatory, but still Adrian felt a bit like he was being put on trial.

_It seems like I get reprimanded for anything I do, _Adrian thought. "I did it because I wanted to protect you."

"So you think I'm weak is that it? Am I just a set back to you?" Gareth challenged, eyes aflame.

"No, you misunderstand!" Adrian replied hastily. "Did you not see how I was punished for what I did? I was not sure if I'd be able to take all the blame when I returned, and I didn't want to involve such a close friend."

"So then you are saying you would sacrifice everyone else?"

"That's not it at all," Adrian grumbled. "You fail to understand me."

Gareth muttered something unintelligible before leaving the tent. Adrian sighed as he began to ready his gear. _Gareth…I just wanted to make sure you were safe._

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"We want to help you, all of us," the man's voice was sincere, his eyes set. Baelin could feel the determination of the people arrayed before him. They were a rag-tag bunch to say the least: their clothes were ripped, their bodies covered with dirt, their hair a mess. They boasted a range of appearances, from attractive to hideous, from child to elder. Yet, all held the same will, all showed a vigor that impressed the young Inquisitor.

"Good, the Scarlet Band would be honored to accept you all into our ranks," Baelin replied. "We managed to smuggle a decent cache of extra supplies out of the Monastery when we left, so we can equip you all with weapons."

"Beggin' your pardon, sir," another man spoke, "but I'm but a cook by trade. I'd rather serve in that regard than as a fighter."

"Me too," an older woman spoke up. "I am a seamstress; I can repair clothing and such, but do not expect me to fight."

"Yes, I was about to suggest as much," Baelin said. "You all have been in much danger already, so I was going to give you all the option to choose your own path. If, however, any of you want to fight, we would honor that choice."

"Aye, I've got a strong arm!" One woman called out.

"I've got energy to spare! I'll kill a thousand zombies!" A younger lad piped up.

More cries of strength filled the area, and soon Baelin was overtaken by a chorus of voices. He raised his hands and lowered them slowly, silencing the refugees.

"Well then, it looks like we have some new members. Welcome to the Scarlet Crusade!"

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Captain Aurora sat alone atop a large stone, gripping the handle of her bastard sword in one hand and a cloth soaked with oil in the other. The paladin stared intently at the steel as she ran the cloth back and forth, polishing the weapon to remove Adrian's bloodstains from the blade.

_The bastard was lucky I was so easy on him,_ Aurora thought, malice coursing through her mind as she scrubbed ever harder. _Had I used my hammer his skull would have cracked after one blow._

_"Always be armed, spare weapons are a must," _Aurora recalled the advice given to her by her parents. It was for this reason that she was armed to the teeth: the bastard sword's sheath was strapped to her back while her two-handed hammer, _Uther's Arm_, hung from a chain at her left hip. On her right hip hung a small one handed mace, while three daggers were stashed behind her breastplate.

After finishing polishing the blade, Aurora admired the weapon, tilting it back and forth to allow the metal to catch and reflect pinpricks of light from the shrouded sun overhead. _Even in times of almost total darkness, the Light endures. It will never vanish and will always arise to pierce through the immeasurable shadow._

"Recovering from being reprimanded?" The words shook Aurora out of her pensive status. She turned behind her and saw the last person she wished to deal with at that moment.

"Warren…" Aurora growled, her eyes set in anger as she saw the mage.

"Yes, rumor has it that Baelin may replace you, I hope he does so post-haste," the wizard continued. "We cannot afford to have someone so given to emotion as a leader of this organization."

Aurora burst into laughter, standing as she sheathed her sword. "You honestly believe Baelin would replace _me? _Are you insane? Do you even realize _why_ someone like me is so valued as a commander? You should be more worried about yourself, I heard a nasty story that you hid during the siege of the monastery."

"That's a filthy lie!" Warren shot back defensively. "And I would hold my tongue if I were you, Baelin needs only a little more convincing to punish you!"

"You should be glad only my words are slicing you," Aurora replied, her words cold rather than overtly furious. "If it was not for the fact that Baelin trusts you I would have already slaughtered you long ago. Keep that in mind."

"Ha! I told you to choose words carefully!" A sense of triumph was present in Warren's speech. "I will report what you said to the Inquisitor and then…"

"Then what? Do you even think he will pay you any mind? Baelin has much more to worry about than petty arguments and insults. Now, be on your way, I have to attend to my company, and I'd suggest you do the same for yours." Aurora strode off into the trees towards the Crimson Company.

"Damn you, Aurora Cronos," Warren muttered, turning away, causing his cloak to rustle in the breeze. "You had best watch yourself."

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"I'm assigning the new recruits to your company, is that ok with you?" Baelin asked, watching as the newly armed and armored ex-refugees filed past him in the distance to train with their new allies.

"Fine by me, I guess," Captain Sonja said, yawning. "Would it make a difference if I said no? You are in charge after all."

_Glad someone respects my authority, even a little bit,_ Baelin thought. "Good, see that they are properly instructed and inducted into our fold. I know I can count on you."

"No need to lie, commander!" Sonja said, grunting as she clasped her hands and stretched them over her head before moving side to side. "Ah, I guess I'm awake now. Time to get serious." Sonja strode down the incline the two officers had been standing on, heading directly towards her troops in the Carnelian Company. "Everyone gather 'round! I've got a few announcements!"

_She's an interesting one, to say the least,_ Baelin smiled as he turned away. _Sometimes I wish we all could stay so innocent after everything that's happened._

Baelin trudged through the trees, considering as he did so. The pace of their march to Tyr's Hand was considerably behind schedule; they had slowed down to accommodate the refugees and had lost several days when waiting for Aurora's troops to return. Also, Baelin has taken the group on a purposefully circuitous route in order to avoid some of the larger known hotspots of Undead; though confident in the ability of the Scarlet Band, he did not wish to lose any more lives unnecessarily. They would most likely be out of the Tirisfal Glades within a day or so, and then their journey would lead the Scarlet Band into the Western Plaguelands.

Baelin gritted his teeth as he continued to think ahead. A battle was inevitable; there would be no route through the Western Plaguelands that would not take them past an undead stronghold of some sort. Their best option would be to push through quickly, and hope that they could be victorious with minor casualties. The plan would be to rush through center and then head north to Hearthglen to restock supplies and request additional troops, if at all possible. This plan would also give Baelin a chance to report the loss of the Monastery to the leaders at Hearthglen, such as the Grand Inquisitor. Afterwards, they would strike south and then east, pushing back through the center before heading into the Eastern Plaguelands. Baelin anticipated that the final leg of the journey would be the most dangerous; if the battles in Western Plaguelands took too heavy a toll, there would be no chance of fighting through the Eastern Plaguelands to reach Tyr's Hand in the southeast. Ultimately, however, Baelin had faith that his plan would succeed, though it would not be without losses.

Baelin estimated the remainder of their journey to Tyr's Hand would take a little over a month if all went well. Back before the rise of the Scourge, one could make the journey in about half that time, but now more precautions had to be taken and certain thoroughfares that were once open had come under the control of the undead.

The issue now, however, was exactly _how_ to enter the Western Plaguelands. _Looks like I will need to convene another council of officers once Sonja finishes this round of training, _Baelin thought. _I hope it goes better than the last. _

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"Die, filth!" Delilah roared, slamming her newly acquired hammer into the figure before her, causing it to explode into a mass of splinters.

"Good strike," Illana cheered, pumping one fist in the air. "You really are getting a lot stronger from this!"

"Yeah, but it's not enough," Delilah panted, strapping her weapon across before running one hand from her forehead back through her blonde hair. "Can you help me set up a few more targets, please?"

"Of course," Illana said, walking beside Delilah. The two picked through the detritus of the Tirisfal floor, grabbing larger sticks and logs and propping them up as makeshift foes. Delilah had been practicing like this for the last hour before Illana showed up and took to shouting words of encouragement.

"Feel free to use some for yourself," Delilah stated as she hefted a log into an upright position.

"No, it's fine," Illana replied hastily. "Besides, you need the practice more than I do." There was a hint of good humor in the mage's voice, and she chuckled to dispel any of its hidden essence.

"Do I now?" Delilah replied, staring at her friend and placing her hands on her hips. "If I recall I fight the Undead just as effectively as you do! Be careful or I will surpass you soon enough."

"Oh, I dare not compete with the mighty Shovel Slayer," Illana answered, "I might as well give up now." The two young women burst into laughter.

_It's like the old days,_ Delilah thought, _back before this nightmare began. It has been years since I laughed this hard._

The laughter stopped and Delilah readied her weapon once again. "It's time for the next round." The hammer sailed through the air and crushed another target dummy, causing dust and chips of wood to fly towards Delilah's body yet, as they did so, some of the pieces of wood slowed down or stopped entirely before harmlessly bouncing off her body or falling to the ground.

Illana was oblivious to this event but Delilah widened her eyes, noticing a blue glow around her hands and arms that quickly faded. _What is this…feeling? It's almost like there is something radiating from my body…like an aura…_

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It was past midnight and no moon shone over the decaying forests of Tirisfal. The majority of the Scarlet Band was asleep, save the troops on watch and the higher-ranking members. Inquisitor Baelin stood alone in a small glade, warming his hands by a flickering fire. One by one, the light glowed on bodies that entered from all sides, and Baelin stood to greet them.

"Welcome to the meeting, captains," the Inquisitor said, spreading his hands in welcome. "I have called you all here today to discuss the next phase of our march." Baelin paused and surveyed their shadowy faces; their eyes were set, their minds seemingly committed to the mission rather than petty squabbles.

"As you know, we are only about three miles from the border with the Western Plaguelands. If all goes well, we should reach this area by tomorrow," Baelin continued. "As far as I know, there are only two pathways we can use to enter the Western Plaguelands. One option to move through the mountains to the southeast; there is one older pass that is quite narrow; it would be a safer route, but would probably take us at least four days to transport everything through it. Additionally, if we were to be attacked from the front of rear we would almost certainly be defeated; it's a small possibility, but one to consider nonetheless.

"Our other option is faster, but far more risky," Baelin paused and surveyed their faces to ensure all the captains were listening; even Aurora appeared to hang on every word as he continued. "We can attempt a gauntlet through the Bulwark."

"Are you mad, Baelin? The choice is obvious!" Warren roared. "If we attempt to take that route we will surely be massacred by the Forsaken!"

"Keep your voice down," Aurora said, "I actually rather like Baelin's idea."

"It is madness," Warren replied. "We would be selling countless lives if we tried to push through the Bulwark. Scouts from Hearthglen once came to the Monastery and reported a garrison there of almost three thousand Forsaken. It is their first line of defense against the Scourge; they would not leave it so weak."

"It is also unexpected," Baelin answered. "By now the Forsaken know of our prescience or at the very least this Glade organization that Aurora's troops informed us about does. They no doubt have forces scouring the region looking for us; it would be foolish for them to let such a powerful force wander unopposed. They probably expect that we are acting cautiously and have a fairly small force, so there is a high probability that they would think we would not act so rashly as to move through the Bulwark and risk a full scale conflict."

"Regardless of whether or not they know our numbers they surely will not remove guards from the Bulwark," Elric stated calmly, adjusting his glasses. "They might even be more on guard for our arrival."

"Very true," Baelin replied, "but if they find as when we are moving through the mountains all of us will surely die. We will be unable to bring our forces to bear or execute successful maneuvers. Similarly, if attack the Bulwark at nightfall, we may be lucky and catch the Forsaken as they try to turn back a Scourge assault; we would assault their force from the rear and be able to churn through it and enter the Western Plaguelands."

"Hm…it's a bit of a gamble, but I like it," Sonja said.

"Risky, yes, impossible, no," Baelin said. "The Bulwark is wide enough that we would be able to completely move through it in less than a day, perhaps even a few short hours; the longer we delay the greater chance of failure. If you are all with me, we will attack a full day from now, at midnight tomorrow. Who is with me?" Baelin stretched his hand out of the fire as the sign of a pact.

Aurora and Sonja stepped forward and immediately placed their hands atop his. Elric was next, slowly walking over to stand with the others. Warren sighed and grudgingly added his hand to the pile.

"Good, inform your troops when they wake. We will march within a mile of the Bulwark and then ready ourselves for combat. This may prove to be the greatest battle of our careers."

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The eyes of the soldiers of the Scarlet Band were dour as they made ready for battle. Blades were sharpened, armor mended and checked, magical reagents prepared. This fight would not be like the smaller surprise skirmishes they had fought since their flight from the monastery; this would be a full-scale battle.

A good portion of the Scarlet Band had never fought in a true battle. Some of the older veterans, like Warren, Baelin, and Aurora, remembered the days of the Third War or, in Warren's case, the Second. They had seen the days of heroes such as Uther the Lightbringer and Alexandros Mograine; they had participated in battles on a massive scale with armies in the thousands and tens of thousands. It seemed to them that the world had shrunk, that the epic battles of the past were long gone. _Perhaps it is for the best that such things have passed into legend,_ Baelin thought as he surveyed his army.

Other Scarlet Crusaders, however, feared for the worst. To them, an army of thousands seemed almost incomprehensible. The Monastery itself had housed almost six thousand troops at its height, but they had never all be marshaled together at any one time. Even the Scarlet Band itself, at one point number over two thousand now had been reduced to a little under fifteen hundred as the battles took their toll. If estimates were true, the Forsaken would have double the forces to call upon.

The captains of each company had met an hour hence with Inquisitor Baelin to discuss tactics for the attack. The young leader noted how crucial each action was: "We need to make every individual count," he informed them, "or we will surely lose."

Each company had already been addressed by its respective commander about the battle plan. It was a fairly simple set of tactics, yet their effectiveness was not in question. As night wore on, the soldiers became more and more edgy, their nerves simultaneously aching to fight and flee.

"The time has come, we are moving out," Baelin dispatched a quartet of messengers to each company. "Ensure that all troops are ready in thirty minutes."

"Yes, sir," they said as one, before rushing into the night. As they disappeared, Baelin turned to look at the sliver of moon above his head.

"Tonight we take another step towards fulfilling Whitemane's Will."

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The Scarlet Band lay in wait but a few hundred yards from the Bulwark; the great wooden palisades appeared as great shadows, as if the very darkness itself sought to halt the advance of all who challenged the Forsaken. In the dark, almost moonless night the Scarlet Crusaders were shrouded, invisible to their Undead foes. They had been silent and unmoving for almost an hour waiting, as Baelin had ordered, for sounds of combat to occur.

_"If we hear nothing after three hours, we will retreat and try again tomorrow. However, we cannot dally too long; tomorrow will be our last opportunity," _Baelin's order echoed in the heads of the warriors.

The air was quiet, no sound moved across the Bulwark and the only images were a cadre of Forsaken sentries patrolling, their bodies eerily outlined by a series of braziers.

Suddenly, everything seemed to happen at once. Distant shouts of the Forsaken melded with the sounds of metal upon metal and magical blasts. The roars of the Scarlet Commanders echoed through the night, and, one after another, the Scarlet Crusaders charged towards the Bulwark.

"For the Crusade! Death to the Undead!" The cry from Delilah Corwin's throat melded with the screams of hundreds of others as they rushed headlong towards the Forsaken. The Scarlet Band slammed into the line of Undead, taking the Forsaken completely by surprise. As the first wave hit, the Forsaken soldiers were butchered. Delilah roared as she brought her hammer down onto the base of a wizard's skull, his body crumpling like a rag as he fell to the ground beside the corpses of his fellows.

Adrian Loksey and his fellow scouts circled around the edges of the attack, peppering the Undead with arrows to thin their numbers. The archers were trained well, and even in almost totally darkness they fired with deadly accuracy. Dozens of Forsaken and Scourge alike fell to the hail of missiles.

One Forsaken clad in ornate black steel armor, most likely a commander, signaled a group of forces to turn away from the Scourge and deal with the Scarlet Band. Few, however, heeded his call as most were too embattled with one foe to even think of fighting another. This officer led his force forward, cutting through several lines of Crusaders, before their impetus suddenly stopped: standing before them was a single female paladin.

"Wretches, how dare you attack from behind, I thought your kind spoke of fighting with honor," the Forsaken commander rasped.

"You filth do not deserve to be treated with honor," Aurora Cronos replied, drawing her hammer. "Now feel the wrath of the Crusade!" Body surrounded by a righteous aura, and pure holy energy coursing around her maul, the Paladin Captain surged towards the forces before her. The commander was the first to fall, his body literally dissolving as the holy aura surrounding Aurora melted away his corrupted flesh, leaving only an empty suit of armor.

Seeing their leader fall, many of the charging warriors retreated, rushing headlong into the backs of their fellows and causing even greater commotion. Others, however, stood firm, only to be disintegrated by Aurora's energy or smashed apart by her hammer. One brazen soldier attempted to sneak up on the paladin, a long dirk in his hands; as the blade moved towards the woman's neck, she wheeled around and slammed her hammer on the back of his neck full force, bludgeoning the hapless soldier and sending him face first into the polluted soil of Tirisfal.

After about an hour of combat, more Forsaken began to turn their attention towards the Scarlet Band. "It appears they have staved off the Scourge!" Baelin cried out as he blocked a spear with his shield before ramming his blade through the attacker's face. "Warren, the time has come!"

"As you order, Inquisitor!" Captain Warren shouted back, summoning streams of holy energy to wrap around his arms. He began to chant in an arcane tongue, unintelligible to all save the mages, before unleashing the spell. Two massive ropes of light rushed from each arm and burst into the Forsaken line, piercing the bodies of the undead and turning them to dust.

Illana and the other mages, too, joined the barrage, having spent the earlier part of the battle readying spells. Holy energy sprung from their fingertips, rushing towards their undead foes, the glowing magic's light illuminating the bodies of their targets before utterly obliterating them. The wizards of the Forsaken tried to counter these spells or return fire, but their attacks were mostly ineffectual. One skilled undead mage sent a blast of ice towards the Scarlet wizards; Illana watched in horror as the three conjurers beside her were speared by the frozen projectiles. The vile mage then erected an energy shield around himself, deflecting the blasts that Illana and her cohorts fired back. He continued to rain death upon the Scarlet Crusaders, sending blasts of arcane energy rippling through the humans.

"I will handle him!" Illana called out. _It's time._ She removed the ring she had found in the abandoned farmstead from the folds of her cloak and placed it over her right ring finger. "Shirika dela du Quel'dorei!" She roared, summoning all the energy she could muster. The gemstone on the ring shown brightly, and her eyes glowed green as blasts that mixed arcane and holy energy surged towards the sorcerer, crushing his shield and killing him in a burst of energy. As the attack finished, Illana fell to her knees panting, her body drained by magical fatigue. _For you…father…_

Though they had suffered heavy losses, the Forsaken continued to fight with fury. While some ran from foes like Aurora and Baelin, these same undead found other, weaker targets rather than desert the battle. A canny Forsaken wielding a halberd cleaved through two Scarlet Scouts and jammed the haft of his weapon into Adrian's left kneecap. The scout wailed in agony and fell, watching in horror as his foe raised the weapon over its head. Surprisingly, the blow never came, and Adrian's look of fear turned to puzzlement and then joy as his assailants body toppled lifelessly to the ground. Standing almost sixty yards away stood Captain Elric; the dour captain nodded before reloading his crossbow and turning to find other targets to snipe.

A wave of death echoed through the Scarlet Band's front lines as dozens of paladins were cut down instantly. "A ballista? Those bastards!" Someone cried. Delilah watched in horror as another massive bolt surged towards them, and she rushed sideways, feeling the gust of the large projectile as it plunged through the soldiers before planting itself in the ground. Delilah looked towards one of the rises on the sides of the Bulwark to see a battery of four ballistae, their crews hastily reloading as they prepared to fire again.

"We need to take out those ballistae or this attack will fail!" Delilah cried out.

"Then let's not waste any more time," Delilah turned towards the voice and saw the slender, robed figure of Captain Sonja. "Warriors of the Crusade, follow me!"

Delilah was momentarily awestruck as she watched the captain grab a mace with one hand and a tome with the other before rushing directly towards the hill, seemingly alone. Yet, the charisma she radiated seemed to permeate the battle line and a trickle of troops soon turned into a surge. Delilah snapped out of her awe and joined the rush to attack the artillery.

The artillery emplacement was defended by several units of Forsaken troops who rained arrows and javelins upon the charging Scarlet Crusaders. Some of the shots bounced harmlessly off armor or shields, while others pierced mail breastplates and pauldrons, sending the red-clothed soldiers to the ground. Two arrows flew towards Delilah at surprising speed, giving her no time to dodge; yet, as they neared her, both seemed to slow and ricocheted harmlessly off her armor: once again the blue glow appeared, its radiating energy protecting Delilah.

More and more Crusaders were cut down as they charged up the hill. Now and then, one of them would be healed by an ally but still some were beyond saving. As the warriors came over the crest of the hill, they were stunned by what greeted them: a ballista had been reloaded and was aimed straight at their lines. The massive arrow rippled forward, straight towards Sonja.

The captain seemed unafraid as the bolt raced towards her body; she looked at her tome, chanting a stream of holy words; instantaneously, a shimmering golden shield erected itself around her body. Both human and undead alike were astounded as they watched the projectile slam into Sonja's shield, only to shatter into tons of pieces. The captain smiled as she looked at the engineers manning the war machine.

"Never underestimate the power of a holy shield," Sonja stated, before sending a wave of holy energy towards the Forsaken, incinerating several with the potent power of the Light. This show of strength emboldened the soldiers Sonja led, and they rushed forward to strike at artillery emplacement. In mere minutes, all the Forsaken on the hill were dead or fleeing, and the Scarlet Crusaders set about destroying the ballistae. Delilah smiled as her hammer bit into the wooden frame of the massive crossbow, her grin widening as chunks of timber cracked under each blow.

Meanwhile, without the threat of artillery bombardments, the bulk of the Scarlet Band's infantry continued their push into the Bulwark. It appeared that, despite turning around to face the Scarlet troops, the Forsaken had not totally dealt with the Scourge offensive. Here and there the Paladins of the Scarlet Crusade consecrated the earth and attempted to purge both strains of undead, batting aside ghouls and crypts fiends in addition to Forsaken militants. Baelin beheaded two ghouls with one clean stroke before turning to kick a Forsaken healer in the chest prior to stabbing the robed foe through the face. The Inquisitor did not even have time to relax as he felt the wind knocked out of him by a blow to the gut. Baelin staggered briefly, but regained his footing and growled at his foe, a burly Forsaken wearing leather armor and carrying a massive battleaxe.

Baelin stood in a ready stance, waiting for his opponent to make the first move. The undead man laughed maliciously and charged, axe at the ready. Yet, seconds before he would have come within range of Baelin, the Forsaken soldier was tackled and fell to the ground. Baelin looked surprised as he saw Delilah, a blue aura emanating from her body.

"Sorry to steal your kill, Inquisitor," Delilah roared as her hammer crushed the foe's skull. "But this bastard fled from his post on the hill, and I wanted to make sure none of them escaped."

"Thanks," Baelin said, walking over to Delilah and offering her his hand. She took it and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. "It is admirable that you all followed Sonja to destroy the ballistae. Without such an effort, this attack would not be going so smoothly." Baelin paused. "I also see you have a Devotion Aura now."

"D…devotion aura?" Delilah asked, puzzled.

"Ask one of the older paladins to explain it to you later, as a swordsman I know little about it myself, and we had best get back to the battle. Stay here, I am going to push forward alone." Baelin rushed into the fray, holy energy coating his blade as he scythed down row upon row of Scourge and Forsaken alike.

_No, I will follow you, commander! I want to fight alongside you! _Delilah thought, rushing behind him. She was oblivious to the battle around her, ignoring a gargoyle that ripped the head off a Scarlet Priest, ignoring the paladin who killed two Forsaken warriors before he was brought down by a necromancer's crippling magic. All Delilah saw was Baelin and the immediate area around him. His glowing sword seemed like a beacon in the darkness, his movements slashing through the very shadow itself as he cut down all in his way. Delilah followed, bashing aside a crypt fiend as she hastened to catch up with Baelin.

Delilah ran faster and faster, the enemies between her and Baelin seeming to melt away. Yet, for each step she took, the Inquisitor advanced, seeming farther and farther from her. She panted, sprinting with all her energy, but it seemed as if the distance continued to increase exponentially. Finally, however, Baelin seemed within range, and it appeared as if all the enemies around him were gone. The Inquisitor sheathed his sword and turned to see Delilah; as he did so, the young paladin's legs became entangled and she began to trip, but Baelin rushed forward and caught her, before propping her up.

"What in the hell are you doing?" Baelin asked, his face red from exhaustion and fury. "I was attempting a dangerous solo maneuver, why were you following me?"

"I…I just wanted to make sure you were safe, commander," Delilah replied, her voice weak and small.

"A nice sentiment, but I do not want any more of my men dying needlessly!" Baelin shot back. Delilah cringed slightly and turned away. "I…apologize, that was rash of me. The battle is now ending; I was just about to announce this and attempt to regroup our forces. I honestly did not wish to put anyone in harm's way, but my reaction was not justified."

"No, it was right," Delilah choked back tears, keeping her body turned away from Baelin. "_Follow the orders of your superiors_; it's a tenant of the Crusade. I am at fault. Forgive me, Inquisitor." Delilah began to walk away. _Foolish…too foolish._

Baelin shook his head. _What was that all about? She's going to get herself killed if she keeps acting so rashly. A shame that one so young would treat life so simply._ Baelin turned to watch the final moments of the conflict. The Scourge forces were all dead, their remains were in the process of being burned or purged with holy energy. A few Forsaken troops still attempted to fight, but their efforts were mostly meaningless and for every Scarlet Crusader who fell, three Forsaken met their end. Most of the surviving undead had fled, rushing into the Western Plaguelands, perhaps in hopes of hiding until the Scarlet Band passed through or hoping to meet with forces already stationed there.

Baelin saw Aurora in the distance, her massive golden aura standing out in the darkness. The glow began to wane, and Baelin knew that she had finished off her final foe. The Inquisitor stepped over the bodies of the fallen and moved towards the center of the Bulwark, the area where the majority of the Scarlet Band was fighting their remaining enemies or taking stock of the situation. Already, priests such as Captain Sonja were tending to the wounded, healing the most dire of injuries first while leaving smaller wounds for a later time. Some of the Crusaders were crying, mourning lost friends and cursing their luck.

Baelin sighed; even a great victory would not be without loss.

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The Scarlet Band had moved a mile into the Western Plaguelands where they had set up camp a little ways away from one of the ancient roads of what was once Lordaeron. No undead had been encountered as of yet, but Inquisitor Baelin had stationed double the usual watch as a precaution.

Their exit through the Bulwark had been a swift one, and the Forsaken's palisades had been torn down to allow for faster movement through the pass. "These walls were built to keep the Scourge away from the Forsaken," Warren noted as he blasted his energy through several logs, toppling them, "but I say to hell with them. Now that we have left let the undead can murder one another all they wish."

After the first watch for the night had finished, Baelin called another council of the four captains. This time, however, they met within the camp inside the Inquisitor's personal tent, as meeting further afield in this region was too risky even for such mighty warriors.

"Let me begin by congratulating you all on a stellar battlefield performance," Baelin said. "You all fought bravely and exquisitely, and were instrumental in bringing about our victory. Now, let us discuss casualty figures," Baelin's voice became deeper, more pained as he spoke. "I know you each assessed your companies after the battle; please inform me of their current situation."

"The Crimson Company has lost roughly one hundred members, while another hundred and fifty or so were wounded, though a great deal of them have been tended to by now," Aurora began.

"The Coral Company suffered heavy losses, almost two hundred of our number were slain, though all of our wounded have been tended to," Warren said, solemnly.

"The Cinnabar Company only took a light beating; we only lost a few dozen men and had fewer than a hundred wounded," Elric stated.

"The Carnelian Company fared similarly. It seems to me we lost about three score soldiers," Sonja finished.

"Well, if my estimates are correct, that means we have about eleven hundred troops alive, though fewer than that number are currently in condition to fight," Baelin said. "I assume as the days pass more and more of them will be healed, but similarly we should expect more losses. Battles here are unavoidable." The Inquisitor paused before continuing. "Now I would like to discuss the next phase of our plan. We will journey north, to Hearthglen…"

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Delilah had been assigned to the second watch, and, despite having a few hours of sleep, she was still exhausted. The events of the battle still weighed heavily on her body and mind and, try as she might, she could not erase the memory of Baelin's anger.

"You look like you have something on your mind," a mature voice said to Delilah; she looked to her left to see a middle-aged woman clad in the garb of a paladin and carrying a small hammer in one hand and a white shield bearing the Emblem of the Crusade in the other.

"Nothing important," Delilah let out a long, slow breath. She thought for a moment before asking. "Can you tell me what a devotion aura is?"

"Of course," the older woman replied. "A devotion aura is a manifestation of holy energy that extends around the paladin's body and protects the user and certain allies around him or herself from harm."

"Oh, so does it completely stop attacks?" Delilah asked excitedly.

"No, that is the divine shield, another, more complex ability of the paladin," the woman continued. "The devotion aura is far more basic, but it enhances the natural defenses of the user. For instance, while it may not stop a blow from a weapon, it will lessen the damage caused."

"Ah, thank you for telling me. I recently got a devotion aura of my own but did not fully understand it." Delilah paused, and then hastily stated. "Oh how rude of me, I did not even introduce myself! My name is Delilah Corwin."

"You're welcome, and it is no trouble. My name is Amanda Stillwater." The woman's face was creased with age, her brown hair already showing silver streaks, but her smile and eyes betrayed a youthful interior. "If you ever have any questions, feel free to ask."

"I will, thank you." Silence descended over the duo as they stood stolidly beside the other guards.

"In fact, if you would like, I will teach your some tricks of the trade if we have some free time before march tomorrow." Amanda said.

"That sounds excellent," Delilah said, smiling. _It looks like I just found a new path to becoming stronger…_

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The night passed without incident, and Baelin sent emissaries to rouse the troops a few hours into the morning. Most were still drowsy, having spent much of the night fighting the Forsaken at the Bulwark and gaining precious little sleep. The messengers, however, informed the troops that an important meeting was to take place in the center of camp before the Scarlet Band set out on the day's march, and thus time was of the essence.

The groggy Scarlet Crusaders slogged from tents and lean-tos towards the camp's core where Baelin was already standing, his face resolute.

"Soldiers of the Scarlet Band," Baelin began as the last few troops filed into place, "I would first like to congratulate you all on our first victory in a large-scale battle!" Cheers and clapping erupted from the crowd, as the Scarlet Crusaders found more energy from these words of encouragement. After the sound died down, Baelin continued his monologue.

"We are not, however, home free. Before us lies the Western Plaguelands, an area far deadlier than the Tirisfal Glades, and beyond that our destination of Tyr's Hand, in the midst of the vile Eastern Plaguelands. I, however, do not fear. We are strong, our faith is unending, and we will crush any who dare defy us!" More cheers boomed from the crowd, the troops filled with jingoism. "The Undead may hear us, and I say let them know we are coming! Let them know their days are numbered!" Baelin called out through the applause.

"Now," Baelin continued as the voices died down, "we are setting a course for Hearthglen before heading to Tyr's Hand. I hope to request reinforcements and new supplies before we enter the last leg of our journey. Knowing the vile Scourge, they have already sensed our prescience and have prepared for our arrival, but that will not deter us!" A third round of exuberance greeted this statement, as fists pumped in the air and voices became hoarse from yelling.

"Yet, before we move forward, we must look back," Baelin stated, his voice taken on a more solemn tone. "We must not forget all of those who we have lost since the attack on the Monastery. We have lost friends, comrades, spouses, lovers, children, and much more. We have had to struggle, flee, and even taste the pain of loss alongside the joy of victory. I would like to ask you all to offer a prayer to the Light for both our past and our future, for the ones we have lost as well as for what we hope to gain." Baelin was the first to clasp his hands and close his eyes. One by one, every Crusader present did the same.

As the minutes passed, each Crusader thought back to the events of the past few weeks. Their home had been ransacked, their allies slain, their entire way of life drastically altered. Yet, as Baelin said, there was hope. They had worked hard, striven to succeed, grown stronger, and continued their quest despite the odds. Though only less than a third of the way to their final destination, all assembled had faith that Tyr's Hand would soon be in sight.

Baelin was the first to open his eyes and survey the multitude of praying soldiers. _Thank the Light so many of you survived._ "Take your time finishing your prayers, but do not dally," Baelin ordered. "I want to start marching again within an hour and a half." The Inquisitor turned away from the crowd and marched back to his tent.

As Illana finished her prayer and opened her eyes, she felt a hand slam onto her shoulder and wheel her around. "Come with me," the stern voice of Aurora Cronos said, grabbing the young wizard's robes and pulling her along.

"W…what did I do?" Illana stammered. "Where are you taking me?" Aurora did not answer as she dragged Illana along, leaving the mage struggling to keep up with the rapid movement of her captain. Moments later, the two arrived outside Baelin's tent and Aurora thrust Illana through the flap before entering herself.

Inside the tent, Baelin was sitting on an improvised chair made from a log while talking to the figure of Captain Warren. The two stopped their conversation and turned to the women.

"It seems we finally agree on something, Aurora," Warren said, looking at Illana who struggled up from the dusty ground.

"Aurora, Warren, what is the meaning of this?" Baelin growled.

Illana was still struggling to stand, coughing as dust entered her mouth and nostrils. Aurora knelt down beside the girl, grabbed her throat with one hand and pulled back her hair with the other.

"_This_ is why!" Aurora yelled. Baelin gasped as he looked at Illana, noticing her elongated, pointed ears.

"An…elf? Impossible, she looks far too human," Baelin stated.

"She's a half-breed," Warren spat, "the mutant offspring of a High Elf and some whore. I noticed when, during the battle, she chanted a spell in Thalassian, the tongue of Quel'thalas, homeland of the High Elves; I fought alongside the High Elves back when we could trust them during the Second War, and a few of the words were familiar to me. She has hidden her secret well, until now."

"My…my parents were good people!" Illana roared, her eyes set in anger. "Is my race enough to condemn me?"

"You know the answer already," Warren said. "All non-humans are a threat to the integrity of the organization. If you were unsure of this rule, why hide your ears beneath your hair?"

Silence filled the room as all eyes bore into Illana's face. The half-elf whimpered briefly as she spoke. "In the past…the Scarlet Crusade offered the promise of redemption for Lordaeron, even including the lands of Quel'thalas. Both sides of my family were stricken by the Undead so I, like others, joined to avenge them and free my homeland. In the past, all races of the Alliance were accepted into the Crusade."

"Times have changed, the world is not so easy anymore," Aurora said, coldly, letting go of Illana and standing. "Inquisitor, shall I finish her off?"

Baelin paused, and then shook his head. "No, although non-humans may be a detriment, we cannot afford to kill within our own organization. This girl shows no signs of disloyalty…"

"On the contrary," Aurora cut him off, "my Soul Scrying shows her devotion to the cause has waned lately."

"Perhaps that is as a result of what you have done to me _here_," Illana shot back, attempting to stand before Aurora forced her back down by pressing her boot onto the half-elf's back.

"Baelin, the longer we let her live the more dangerous she will become," Warren said. "Have you not heard that Quel'thalas no longer serves the Alliance? We can barely trust that pitiful organization, but rogue elves could mean even more danger to our cause."

"I do not care," Baelin answered, "she is half-human, and that is enough for me, especially in these circumstances. So long as she stays loyal, I see no reason to kill her. Let her go." Aurora growled as she removed her boot, allowing Illana to exit the tent before casting a look of scorn on the two Captains.

"Aurora, Warren, your attempts to protect the Scarlet Band are respected, but such measures are too harsh, especially with such little evidence," Baelin said. "I have said it before and I will surely say it again, but we cannot risk sowing dissent among our own ranks. Every life we lose makes Lordaeron fall closer to oblivion. Whether she is full-blooded, half-blooded, or even an Elf, we cannot just cast out soldiers."

"As you command, Inquisitor," Aurora said, leaving.

"I apologize, and will heed your words," Warren said, exiting as well. As the two captains walked out, they began their own rapport. "Do not worry," the elder mage continued, "once we reach Hearthglen we will meet up with the Grand Inquisitor. He is an old friend of mine, outranks Baelin, and will definitely see things our way." _And maybe,_ Warren thought, hiding a vicious grin, _the Grand Inquisitor will help me deal with you as well. _

Character Profile: Aurora Cronos

Age: 30

Rank: Captain of the Scarlet Band, former Sergeant of the 8th Paladin Battalion

Affiliation: Leader of the Scarlet Band's Crimson Company, formerly a Sergeant in the 8th Paladin Battalion in the Scarlet Monastery's Cathedral

Abilities: Aurora is a fairly skilled paladin and was seen as a prodigy in her youth. She knows advanced healing, offensive, and defensive spells utilizing holy magic. She is also fairly skilled with a variety of weapons including maces, swords, and daggers. She possesses the rare ability of Soul Scrying which allows an individual to peer into the souls of those around her, allowing her to glimpse their nature. Aurora has also been shown to exhibit a powerful and rare holy aura that can partially decompose undead she is fighting. As a powerful paladin, it is possible Aurora has other abilities she has not called upon or rarely uses.

Appearance: Aurora is five feet eight inches tall and has an athletic build. Her hair is pitch black and falls slightly past her shoulders. Her eyes are a dark gray hue. She wears a suit of red plate armor over a layer of chainmail. Her tabard is similar to that of the standard Scarlet Crusader but beneath the central symbol on golden letters that spell out her family name, 'Cronos.'

HES: Thus we come to the end of another chapter. The Scarlet Band is finally out of the Tirisfal Glades, but danger is surely waiting for them as they continue through the Western Plaguelands! Also, what will happen to Illana now that her secret has been revealed? And, now that she has found an instructor, will Delilah learn any new abilities?

Anyway, enough speculation and summary questions for now. I'd like to thank the great turnout of reviews and favorites that have come since I last updated my story! It's great to hear from all of you and I really value all the input I've been getting! Keep those reviews coming, I cannot wait to hear what you think of this chapter! As always, I love hearing from my readers and take what everyone says into account. Until next time, have a good one!


	6. Charity

Chapter 6: Charity

"Illana, are you all right?" Delilah looked astonished as she rushed over to her friend. Tears stained the half-elf's face, and dust was evident on her robes. "Here, come into my tent, let's talk."

Illana merely nodded, sniffling, as she walked into the cloth enclosure, ignoring the stares and whispers of the other soldiers. The two young women took seats on a blanket Delilah had laid on the floor.

"What is the matter?" Delilah asked. "You look…distraught."

"That is the l...least of it…" Illana began between sobs. "They…they…kn…know my…se…sec…secret…"

"Secret?" Delilah asked, confused.

Illana sighed, choking back tears as she spoke. "I guess it is time to tell you about my family's history."

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"The say Fairweave is involved with…a human," one of the magisters said to another as they patrolled the halls of Silvermoon, capital of the Elven nation of Quel'thalas. Their clicking heels and stern voices echoed off the pillars of the Magister's Pavilion near the city's eastern edge. "It seems she is from Lordaeron. They met while he was studying in Dalaran."

"Feh, sometimes I think the Violet Citadel was constructed for the sole purpose of having youths of our races meet to interbreed," another stated, haughtily. "It's revolting."

"And here I was thinking my so-called peers would not stoop so low as to gossip behind my back," a stern voice accompanied a series of footsteps that echoed on the marble floor of the mage's spire. The cadre of mages winced slightly as they saw the figure who possessed the voice: Anaurin Fairweave. The High Elf was tall and handsome, his features setting him apart even from the majority of his kin. His hair was long, blonde, and pulled back into a ponytail behind his head. He wore a flowing, emerald robe covered with runes embroidered with gold thread. His green eyes narrowed in cold rage as he approached his fellows.

"I believe my choice of consorts is my own," Anaurin continued, standing but a hair's breadth from the mages.

"While that is true," one mage replied, "it is actions like this that weaken the blood of our people. Our numbers were already dwindling ages ago when we first fought the Trolls, and things only became worse in the Second War. Young fools like you let your lust for human wenches pollute and thin our bloodline."

"Were it not for the aid of the humans far more of our number would have perished," Anaurin countered. "The Amani would have left Quel'thalas as a pile of charred timber and corpses had the Alliance not come to our aid."

"What do you know of the Second War? You spent most of your time in Dalaran, romancing humans," another magister said. One by one, the elder wizards formed a circle around Anaurin. "Is it true you intend to bring her to Quel'thalas?"

"Yes, I wish for her to live here," Anaurin said. "In the past, we were welcoming to mortal races who gave us aid."

"We cannot be so foolish any longer," the voices came from all sides, making it impossible for Fairweave to identify who each word belonged to. "The Alliance has fractured, and we cannot trust what remains of the humans. Do you not remember the betrayal of Alterac? They sold out their own kind, what do you think they would do to us?"

"I know more of Alterac than you give me credit for," Anaurin's voice was dark, loaded with hatred. "Those scum even attempted to direct the Orcs towards Dalaran. Do you honestly think I would not attempt to fight those vile greenskins?"

"This is not a history lesson nor a trial, this is the time for an edict. Anaurin Fairweave, for becoming romantically involved with a human in these pressing times we have no choice but to exile you from Quel'thalas. You are never to come near Silvermoon again, if so, it will be considered an act of treason and you will be killed on sight. We cannot risk endangering our lands."

"As you order, you xenophobic bastards," Anaurin spat, stamping out of the hall as the ring of wizards parted to let him through. "Someday, you may regret such rash choices."

"That will be for us to worry about, young Fairweave," one called after him. "We do not need your counsel."

Anaurin growled as he exited the hall and tramped through the streets of Silvermoon. It was almost as if everyone knew of his actions, for even children gave him a wide berth and he left the city. He passed old friends who turned away and ignored his attempts at farewell; he saw his aunt who rushed into an alleyway as he came near. As Anaurin Fairweave left the gates of his homeland, he turned back for one final, solemn look. _Silvermoon…Quel'thalas…even if my body is kept out, my heart will forever be one with you. Someday, I hope my children can return._

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"This is all my fault," Marina Cornridge, soon to be Marina Fairweave, wept as she laid her head on her fiance's lap. "You should have lied about me, we should have kept our relationship a secret. You knew the Elves studying in Dalaran would report back to Silvermoon."

"I do not care," Anaurin replied, stroking his fiance's auburn hair and looking at her quivering form. "It is not your fault, nor mine. It is the fault of this world that cannot accept love in all its forms. It is an odd day when humans are more accepting of our courtship than my kin. Once, unions such as this were accepted, or at least not frowned upon."

Marina's sobbing ceased as she raised her head and looked into her future husband's eyes. "Yes, I hope our child will grow up in a world free of such prejudice." Marina stood, her pregnant belly extending before her. "I need to rest; it has been a long day." Anaurin nodded and helped his wife onto the bed in their small cottage near the border of Alterac. Homes such as this had been abandoned when their former occupants fled for fear of the wrath of the Alliance military; whether the people were traitors of not, association with Alterac could lead to imprisonment or death.

Marina closed her eyes, offering a few words before she fell asleep. "If the child is a boy, let me choose the name. If it's a girl, you can choose."

"Fine then, our child's name will be Illana," Anaurin stated.

"You sound so confident, as if you know our baby will be a girl…" Anaurin smiled as his wife uttered these words before drifting off to sleep.

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The wedding of Anaurin Fairweave and Marina Cornridge took place in a small chapel at the foot of one of the mountains of Alterac. None of Anaurin's family were in attendance, their pride too damaged by their son wedding one of the "lesser races." Marina's family, however, were present; her massive contingent of colorful relatives filled almost half the pews of the church. Friends the couple had met while studying in Dalaran had also come to share the celebration; the mages decorated the room, making flowers of arcane energy shimmer in the air before bursting into a thousand glittering sparks. The presiding priest smiled as he read the service to the happy couple.

As the vows were being exchanged and the service was coming to an end, Marina began to cry out, falling to the floor. Anaurin grabbed his wife and helped lower her to a level position. "She's going into labor!" The Elf cried.

"Damn girl, this is what she gets for not waiting until the bond was sealed," one of Marina's cousins muttered as he watched her plight. One by one, the more skilled mages rushed over to attempt to aid in the delivery any way they could. The priest attempted to use soothing healing magic to calm her, and bit by bit it seemed to work.

Hours passed and, finally, Marina's child was born. Anaurin grabbed the baby and held it up, smiling as the rising sun shown on his offspring through the chapel's only window. "A girl…your name shall be Illana."

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"Good, very good, Illana!" Marina cheered her daughter.

"You're really learning well!" Anaurin commented, smiling as he watched tendrils of arcane magic twirl around his daughter's wrists.

Illana was a mere five years old, but already she had started showing signs of magical aptitude. Her parents had started tutoring her as best they could, allowing her basic abilities to blossom and grow with each passing day.

"Does this mean…I can study in Dalaran like you two did?" Illana asked, her eyes wide with excitement as she turned to her parents.

"In a few years, certainly," Marina said. "Dalaran usually does not start magical education until around the age of twelve, but I am sure they will make an exception for you." Marina was not lying; Illana had shown some of the fastest magical aptitude she and Anaurin had ever seen or heard of.

Young Illana smiled and looked off into the distance towards the spires of the Violet Citadel. _Some day, soon…I will be a mage like mom and dad!_

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"I cannot accept her," Antonidas stated gruffly, turning away from the Fairweaves. "She is too young; bring her back in a few years and we will see what can be done."

"You refuse to even give her a chance to prove herself to you?" Anaurin roared, stomping towards the Kirin Tor's leader. "I am not asking you to give her a high rank, merely to accept her into the magical school here. Her powers are developing, she needs more experienced guidance than either Marina or I can provide!"

"Hold your tongue, boy!" The elder mage snapped, banging his oaken staff on the marble floors of the Violet Citadel as he spoke. "It is not a matter of skill; I cannot make special exceptions, it is the law of Dalaran. If I let your daughter in, hundreds, nay thousands of mages will be up in arms and argue to try and admit their children. I am sorry, but bring her back in four years time and we will have a place for her."

"Before the Second War, I had heard young prodigies were admitted to the magister's school," Marina stated.

"Much has changed since then…" Antonidas said simply, turning away from the family. Without another word, the elder wizard walked out of the room. _We cannot risk another Medivh…_

Tears welled in Illana's eyes as she left the chamber, before she burst into a full blown fit of crying. Anaurin patted her head as they walked out of the Violet Citadel and through the streets of Dalaran.

"There, there, Illana," the elf comforted his child, "your mother and I will give you the best instruction we can until you are old enough to come here. Do not worry, Antonidas will someday see his folly."

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The entire Alterac countryside was a bustle of activity, as people abandoned homes and fled southward towards Hillsbrad and Tarren Mill. What had started as a mere trickle of people had turned into a full fledged exodus, as entire towns that had stood since the time of Arathor were left for safer climes.

The Scourge was to blame.

The Undead had come suddenly, like a violent torrent of water breaking through a seemingly impenetrable dam. One by one, towns and cities were crushed under their mighty war machine, the former inhabitants of these climes transformed into soldiers of those who had killed them. Parents slew children, friends fought former friends, and wives were forced to slay husbands or were slain by them. Truly, the Scourge unleashed horror on the continent of Lordaeron.

"We need to leave here," Anaurin said, slamming his fist on the kitchen table for emphasis. "If we stay we will die to the Scourge!"

"I want to fight!" Illana cried. "I will not abandon my home!"

"Illana, we cannot hope to defeat them, even with all three of us," Marina replied. "Also, you are old enough to study in Dalaran. We can stay there, safe, and you can begin your magical education."

"What good is knowing magic if I cannot use my powers to fight evil?" Illana asked, her face red with rage.

"You are still a child," Anaurin replied, "you do not understand. Sometimes you need to save your own life rather than die for nothing. I will not let my only daughter die needlessly."

"I am twelve years old, stop treating me like a child!" Illana wailed.

"You still _are_ a child, especially from your father's point of view," Marina said. It was true, ever since her youth Illana had been the pride of Anaurin's life; he had spared no effort to make her life as good as possible, occasionally spoiling her more than Marina would have liked.

Suddenly, the door to their cottage burst open and a soldier wearing the colors of the Stromgarde military rushed inside, the red eagle on his chest seeming to pull him forward.

"I have been ordered to draft any able-bodied souls into the Stromgarde army," he stated officially, brandishing a shimmering blade. He looked stunned and shivered as she saw Anaurin. "A…an Elf? Here? Begging your pardon, but perhaps you had best deal with your own people first; things here have not gotten so bad…yet. My apologies."

"What do you mean?" Anaurin asked, suddenly.

"You haven't heard? Surprising…" the soldier said. "Word is the bulk of the Scourge armed turned towards Quel'thalas after crushing Lordaeron's capitol."

Anaurin looked stunned before finding his resolve and rushing towards the soldier. "How long ago did you hear this?"

"A messenger came but yesterday," the soldier answered.

"We have to go help them!" Illana cried out. "Papa, it's your home! You always promised you would take me! If we do not help save it we will never get a chance to see the beautiful forests and the city of Silvermoon!"

Anaurin paused and considered for a minute. "I will go alone to Quel'thalas. The two of you will go to Dalaran and await my return."

"No, my love, I will go with you," Marina said, standing beside her husband. "Besides, I have always been a better fighter."

"And I am not going to live with those stuffing old mages alone! I am coming too!" Illana piped up.

"You are all insane," the Stromguardian sighed, shaking his head. "Even _if _you head towards Quel'thalas it will take you at least a month to reach there on foot; even on horseback you would be unable to make it in less than two weeks. Judging by when our messenger arrived, the place is probably long gone by now."

"No, if I know my people they will fight to the last," Anaurin answered. "Silvermoon can hold out for months, maybe even years. In its history, no one has ever breached the gates. Even so, if given enough time, I can prepare a ritual to teleport us to a special grove within Quel'thalas; it will take at least four days to conduct, but it will be faster than normal modes of travel."

"Well, even if you _were_ to make it, you would have to break through lines of Undead to reach the city," the dour footman answered.

"No, I know the forests of Quel'thalas well," Anaurin replied. "It will not be too difficult to sneak through less well known path and reach the city." He turned to Illana before continuing. "Regardless of your desires, you cannot come with us. Marina, take her to Dalaran and then teleport to meet me outside Tarren Mill. We will begin the ritual when you arrive."

"If things are really that urgent, I can spare a horse for you two take your daughter to Dalaran," the soldier stated. "Ironically, our last cavalry commander was a womanizer, so the horse throws any other men who try to ride it."

"That would be excellent," Marina said, grabbing Illana's hand and leading her towards the door. "Come, there is no time to waste!"

Illana wailed and screamed as she was pulled away from the place of her birth, her anger rising as she watched her father rush off to Tarren Mill.

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It had been almost a week since Marina had left Illana in the care of an old friend named Belinda. Apparently, this older woman had aided in Marina's magical instruction, and the two had formed a close bond over the years. Belinda agreed to take care of Illana for as long as necessary; meanwhile, the mage would ensure the young half-elf attended magical education to further her training as her parents wished. In addition, the experienced wizard would supplement the youth's training before and after studies each day, attempting to supplement the girl's growing magical knowledge.

_I hate it here,_ Illana thought as she sat at Belinda's table, eating biscuit her guardian had conjured. _I should be with my parents, fighting the Scourge! I hate this city; the mages are too busy with their own affairs to go out and help the world. Those that try are scorned and ridiculed. This is not the place for me._

As the two finished dinner, Belinda walked towards the door of her dormitory. "I have to help some colleagues with a ritual. You had best go to bed; I will not return until very late."

"What kind of ritual?" Illana asked, eyes wide with excitement as she sat up on her chair, her arms pushing her body halfway across the table as if attempting to spring across the table.

"I suppose I can tell you if you promise to keep it a secret," Belinda waited for Illana to nod rapidly before giving an explanation. "It is a teleportation ritual. The geezers in the Kirin Tor finally approved sending more wizards to the front to help fight the Scourge. Do not worry, I am not one of them; I'm just going along to help speed things up. Anyway, I best be off, goodbye for now." With that, Belinda walked out the door. Illana waited five minutes before rushing out, shadowing the woman all the way.

Illana wended her way through the streets and alleys of Dalaran, making sure to keep Belinda in sight without drawing her attention. Night had fallen, so the streets were mostly deserted save for the occasional mage or guard patrolling the area in case of attack. Illana made sure to move as quietly as possible, casting a spell to muffle her footfalls as she rushed after her mentor.

The two walked for hours, moving through areas of Dalaran Illana had never visited. The half-elf panted as her legs began to feel heavy, but continued to move. Eventually, Belinda came to a stone door with a magical seal; the wizard waved her hands in a certain pattern and the door opened, allowing her to enter. Illana waited ten minutes before moving towards the door and copying the hand gestures, attempting to summon arcane energy as she did so; skill, or perhaps luck, was on her side and the door opened, allowing Illana to enter silently and rush to hide in a corner.

The mages had already begun their ritual by the time Illana had entered the chamber; she assumed that Belinda was the final member of the group. Eight mages were arrayed around a dais where a single wizard stood, clothed in brown robes with the purple eye of Dalaran embroidered on the back. Light surrounded this lone figure, as arcane energy swirled from the hands of those around him towards his chest. His face was turned away from Illana, so she could not tell what he looked like aside from his clothes and height. Suddenly, the mages surrounding the rise began to chant. At first, Illana had difficulty understanding the language, but soon realized it was a derivative and Thalassian which her father had taught her; Illana had even learned a few High Elven spells which required Thalassian chants, though she was far from mastering any of them.

The streams of golden arcane energy thickened and sped up as the chanting continued, until one of the wizards, who Illana assumed was the leader, began to speak in Common. "We will now transport you to the location you speak. Envision it in your mind's eye based on all you have heard of it before. After a minute you will appear there, but be warned, you will be momentarily dazed. Are you ready, Alfred?"

"Yes, sir," the mage on the dais replied.

Illana saw her chance, and closed her eyes, trying to conjure up the image of Silvermoon based on her father's accounts. She saw the mighty Elven city, its spires towering over even the ancient trees of Quel'thalas. She envisioned the cobblestone streets, the magical gates, and even the mystical Sunwell. Suddenly, Illana's eyes shot open and she rushed forward towards the dais. The wizards were all too busy concentrating on the spell to notice a young girl running through the room until it was too late. Illana jumped towards the dais, sending a harmless blast of arcane energy towards the wizard identified as Alfred to push him off the platform. As she landed, the magical streams struck her; they felt warm, inviting. Cries of dissent filled her ears, but Illana ignored them all. Moments later, the voices had disappeared, and Illana found herself in a most unfamiliar place.

Corpses surrounded the half-elf, thousands of them. On the ground were the bodies of the slain, some former members of the Scourge, some High-Elves, and others too mutilated to tell. The sound of screams echoed in the distance, and the smell of burning flesh and wood filled the air. Illana gasped, falling to the ground as fear gripped her; it was the first time in her life she had seen dead bodies. Terror overtook her mind and she was unable to move, her body quivering as she looked at the carnage around her.

Thoughts raced through Illana's mind, images of death and destruction. She looked into the distance to see burning trees, watching as an army of skeletons slammed a massive battering ram into one of Silvermoon's gates. The smell of blood and rotting flesh wafted in the wind.

_It's too much,_ Illana thought, tears streaming down her face and onto her mauve robe. _I…I cannot fight! I will die, like all these people! I cannot even hope to stop the Scourge! One person cannot do that! _Suddenly, a thought shot through Illana's mind and she gasped. _My parents! I need to find them! _Strength coursed through her entire form as the half-elf ran, stepping over corpses and discarded weapons as she raced towards the towering walls of Silvermoon. She had been lucky to find an area devoid of most Undead; Illana encountered one or two mindless zombies, but a few blasts of magic did away with them with ease. It seemed to her that the Undead had reformed their ranks and headed for the area she saw in the distance which, she assumed, was the main gate. _This looks like good news! The Undead must be low on troops and forced to consolidate in one position! My parents' arrival probably helped turn the tide of the battle!_

Illana scoured the wall, looking for an entry point. All she saw were yards of white stone, with no doorway in sight. "Can someone let me in?" She screamed, hoping her voice was heard over the din of battle. Suddenly, a figure appeared atop the wall and called back to her.

"What in the hell is a kid like you doing out there?" The voice, belonging to a sentry wearing green armor, called down. "You will be killed! You need to head towards Lord Quel's evacuation ships, at the harbor to the west!"

"Why evacuate? I want to stay and fight!" Illana returned.

Laughter was the sentry's initial reply. "You young ones rush to death so easily…"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

The sentry paused. "At this rate, Quel'thalas will fall."

Illana's eyes widened in shock. "Impossible! My father said it would hold out for a month or more! No one has ever breached the gates!" A massive crashing in the background made void this fact, and Illana shuddered. "Do you know where Marina and Anaurin Fairweave are?"

"Fairweave? The exile? Ironic you would ask so specifically in a huge city like this, but he made quite a scene when he returned, but there's not time for stories now," The sentry yelled back. "Commander Sunstrider sent him and his wife to defend the harbor to ensure the refugees' escape. If you want to find that scoundrel so badly head there, though I am honestly not sure why anyone would want to look for that cretin."

"Thanks!" Illana yelled, as she rushed to the west, dodging low-hanging branches and weaving between trees as she went. The sounds of fighting grew dim in the distance before rising again slightly as she neared the harbor. Illana prayed her parents were alive as she drew closer to the docks, the masts of the mighty Elven ships towering before her, their pale sails offering a stark contrast to the forest's greenery.

Screams, explosions, clashes of blades: these sounds echoed violently as Illana ran, breathlessly, towards the distant docks. "Indiri na door Quel'dorei!" was the popular battlecry, roared as green armored High Elven troops attempted to stem the tide of the Undead forces.

As Illana burst through the trees, the sight of the battle came into full view. Here as well corpses littered the ground, most of them the remains of skeletal troops and ghouls, though pockets of dead High Elves were also in evidence. Before her, ranks of Elven pikemen fought vainly against a veritable tide of undead soldiers. Though the Quel'dorei possessed better equipment and fighting ability, the Undead outnumbered them a hundred to one. Behind the ranks of green armored troops stood a series of mages wearing robes of a spectrum of hues; as these magisters rained fire, ice, lightning, and other elements on their foes, Illana scanned the lines for her parents. Unable to tell at this distance, she rushed towards the Elven forces, oblivious to the Undead behind her.

Illana fell to the ground suddenly, screaming in shock as she slammed into the grass. She tried to turn around and see who had struck her, but was unable to move as the thing pinned her down. She heard chattering teeth and low growls, causing her fear to rise; terror took hold of Illana's mind, and she was unable to act, her body and mind failing to respond.

Illana winced and roared in pain as she felt claws dig into her bag, the creature ripping through her robe and flesh. Her heart rate increased exponentially, her mind racing. _I'm going to die, I'm really going to die!_ Time seemed to slow as the beast slashed her again and again, seeming to delight in killing her slowly. The strikes seemed to come in a rhythm, the nails digging in every few seconds. Then, without warning, the pattern broke, then halted entirely. Illana suddenly felt a weight leave her back, and rose hastily, running without a glance back at what had attacked her, seeing only the charred remains of a ghoul. Standing before the half-elf was a familiar figure: Anaurin.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Anaurin asked, his voice loaded with wrath. "You were told to stay in Dalaran! It is too dangerous here!"

"Father, thank you!" Illana said hastily, running to him and clasping her arms around his waist. "You were right…you were right…I should not have come," tears streamed down her face as she hugged her father. "Where is mother?" She looked up to see Anaurin sigh and shake his head.

"She was killed…" Anaurin said, sobbing slightly. "She, being a human and I, the spouse of a human, were seen as untrustworthy and stationed at the front lines of the initial battle at the docks. Your mother fought hard, but was eventually overwhelmed and slain by a flock of gargoyles. I…I tried to save her…but I was too weak." Illana had never seen her father display sadness, but now he wept like a child. "But I will not lose you. Go to the ships, now. Only a few of them are left. When this is all over I will find you, somehow. Now go!" Anaurin pushed his daughter towards the docks, and watched as she rushed towards the wooden vessels. Illana did as she was bade, hastening up the gangplank, her body urged on by a desire to live.

Tears continued to course down the young mage's face as she stood beside Elven refugees on the deck. Illana was jostled left and right and frightened Quel'dorei civilians pushed their way onto the vessel. "Settle down! There is space for you all! If you move in an orderly fashion we can escape more quickly!" An official looking Elven warrior wearing gold armor yelled; his face was covered by a massive golden helmet that resembled a dragon in mid-flight, its wings extending to the sides of the armor piece.

As the last of the refugees boarded the ship, Illana turned around for a final look at the battle. Before her stood to tall Elves, but she pushed by them and managed to reach the ship's railing. Illana scanned the crowd for her father, hoping to pick out his purple robe among the chaos. _My father will not die; he will survive and find me, I know it! _

That thought was dashed apart as Illana finally caught sight of her father sending arcane blasts into a horde of zombies. Slowly, the creatures advanced and began to pile atop the Elf, dragging him down as he attempted to kill more of them. Illana picked out her father's screaming voice as he was consumed, flesh and all, by the Scourge.

"FATHER!" Illana screamed, her face now flooded with tears. She grabbed the railing, and stood on it as if to jump off, hoping to save her father if able or at the very least avenge his death. As she prepared for her dive, a pair of hands pulled her back onto the deck.

"Fool! We just managed to escape, do you have a death wish?" The figure asked. Illana turned to see it was the Elf with the golden armor.

"I…my….father…" was all Illana could stammer as she looked at the Elf.

"Yes, I know the pain you feel. My mother, wife, and five brothers all perished in the attack," the armored Elf replied. "However, we must live for their sake. We survived so that someday we can have revenge."

Illana nodded before stuttering a question. "Wh…where are we g…g…going?"

"Most of the fleet is sailing to southern Lordaeron to regroup with the Alliance military," the Elf shook his head. "That is a foolish path; we left the Alliance and now we wish to beg for aid? It is worthless, the humans of this land have just as many problems as we do." The Elf paused and pointed across the sea, as if indicating their destination. "I, on the other hand, have decided on a more direct course for both survival and revenge. I have an old friend, a human paladin named Abbendis I fought beside in the Second War. Rumor has it that he has assembled an army and seeks to take the fight directly to the Scourge. While the Alliance argues about what to do, we will strike directly and win. I would have joined him sooner, but his message reached Quel'thalas when the siege began and I could not abandon my home. Now, however, we have nothing but our hatred."

"And where is this Abbendis?"

"His followers have taken up position in the Tirisfal Glades. They have repurposed a Monastery into a barracks. There, we will plan our vengeance. If, however, you do not wish to join this cause, then by all means leave when we arrive; I am sure many others will do the same. The ship, however, has set its course."

Illana shook her head. "No, if it means we will get revenge, I will do whatever it takes. I will for Alterac, for Quel'thalas, and most of all for my parents."

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"…not long after that, he and I, that Elf whose name I still do not know, went with a few dozen others to the Monastery. I was the only one to stay behind, as I was young, while the others made a desperate foray towards a Scourge position: not one of the Elves returned."

As Illana's story finished, Delilah rushed over and hugged her friend. "I am..so sorry, I did not know," Delilah said softly.

"It…it is not your fault," Illana said, eyes turned towards the ground. "You have been a good friend to me; your kindness has helped me through these difficult days."

"To be honest…I'm surprised," Delilah said. "I have never met a half-elf before."

"We are a very rare breed," Illana answered, drying her tears. "In fact, I have not met another myself, though I have heard stories of a few here and there. These leaders of the Scarlet Band know my secret and though Inquisitor Baelin seems to want to protect me I feel as if something wicked may be on the horizon…"

"Do not worry, I will make sure nothing happens to you, that is what friends are for," Delilah answered, standing. "We had best begin packing, we have a rough march ahead of us. Rumor has it we may reach the Ruins of Andorhal today and, if so, we might have another battle on our hands."

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"There is no avoiding it, we will have to fight another battle today," Inquisitor Baelin informed his captains.

"But my men are still recovering, we cannot force them into another large scale conflict so soon!" Warren argued.

"If your men are too weak to fight we can leave them behind," Aurora shot back. "Baelin is right in encouraging us to push forward; the more time we waste the greater the chance of our mission failing."

"Warren, your concern for your troops is appreciated," Baelin stated, "and I have already thought of a plan to accommodate your situation: the Coral Company will act as reserves, brought in only if the situation becomes dire; currently, you command the smallest amount of forces, so overall it should not make too great a difference."

"Acceptable…" Warren muttered.

"Additionally," Baelin continued, "this battle should be far easier than our last. Elric?"

The scout captain nodded and began to speak. "I took a small force of scouts and took note of the area. There appear to be roughly four thousand undead troops, however, they are commanded by but a few hundred Necromancers and a dozen or so Lichs. Without their leaders, the Scourge become utterly mindless. If we can target their lords and bring them down quickly, we should have an easy time disposing of whatever filth remains in our way."

Baelin nodded. "Our objective will be to kill the commanders and move throw the Ruins of Andorhal as quickly as possibly. The less time we waste, the better. Rouse your forces and tell them we are marching in an hour; in half an hour return here for final battle briefings."

"Yes, Inquisitor," the four captains said in unison, exiting Baelin's tent.

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The remains of the once proud city of Andorhal stood before the Scarlet Band as they came over the hills surrounding it. Few buildings still stood, and those that did were burned out shells, their masonry cracked and wood rotting. Figures shifted between the ruins, the skeletal forms dull in the sunlight.

"Looks like we've got our work cut out for us," Inquisitor Baelin muttered to Captain Elric. "Remember, you and your scout squadron are integral to the success of this mission. We can buy you some time, but the longer you take the greater our chances of failure."

"Understood, commander," Captain Elric replied, "my men have their orders; we will not fail the Scarlet Crusade." With that, the scout leader rushed off, beckoning for scouts to follow him as he readied his crossbow and moved around a hill to the northwest.

As Elric and his comrades departed, Baelin gestured for his forces to advance across one of the wide stone bridges that connected the hills of the Western Plaguelands to the remnants of Andorhal. Despite the destruction of the city, these pieces of architecture still stood firm, a final testament to the Kingdom of Lordaeron. The bridges were wide enough for six men to walk across, side by and side, and so presented an excellent opportunity to move men into the region. With a burst of fury, the soldiers of the Scarlet Band charged across the bridge, weapons raised as they readied for combat.

The first few lines of undead buckled and crumbled as the Scarlet Band rammed into them. Holy energy arced left and right, dissolving and obliterating the mockeries of life's laws. Some of the Scourge minions attempted to fight back, but their movements were slow, clumsy, and inaccurate. Here and there an unlucky Scarlet Crusader fell to a zombie's bite or ghoul's claws, but overall the Scourge forces were massacred.

Suddenly, an odd turquoise light began to emanate from the eye sockets of the undead warriors and a new vigor and power shot through them. The awkwardness of movement was gone; all that remained was perfect killing intent.

"The Necromancers must have enacted control!" Baelin called out, slicing off the arms of a ghoul before kicking it into the waters around Andorhal. "Make Scourge commanders your priority targets!"

"Most of the leaders will be at the center!" Warren cried, holy fire rushing from his fists, incinerating a line of zombies as he pressed forward. "These troops are basically meat-shields to wear us down before we reach their leaders!"

"Mostly true, Warren," Aurora called to her rival. Warren gasped as a round object rolled to his feet; he looked briefly, noticing it was a severed human head, its skin gray with age and rot, a skeletal helmet on its head. "But if you are canny, you can still kill a Necromancer or two out here." Warren turned to see Aurora walking out of one of the ruined buildings, her arms laden with two more similar heads. She let these drop to the ground and readied her hammer before charging into the fray once more.

Delilah and Illana fought side by side as the two rushed forward with the rest of the Crimson Company. Illana wore down lines of enemies that charged with blasts of magical energy, while Delilah finished off any stragglers that came within melee range. The two formed an excellent team, Illana acting as the sword and Delilah as the shield. At one point, a ghoul lunged at the mage from behind, but Delilah's devotion aura weakened his blow and briefly confused the creature, giving the paladin time to crush his skull with her hammer. Illana smiled at Delilah before sending a wave of fiery energy into a row of crypt fiends, burning the undead spiders to cinders.

Despite their initial success, however, the Scarlet Band began to wear down as time went on. Though the undead were poor fighters, they possessed greater numbers and did not tire. More and more Scarlet Crusaders died with each passing minute, their energy spent and their perception weakened by the continuing fight. Some of the Necromancers had also joined the fray; no longer content to sit back and command their minions, they raised new corpses for their army and fired black magic at their enemies.

The massed forces of the Scourge slowly began to fragment the ranks of the Scarlet Band, separating companies into smaller groups and finally cornering individual soldiers. These lone crusaders fought to the last, but most could only bring down a foe or two before the undead killed them and consumed their remains.

Inquisitor Baelin shuddered as his last two bodyguards were obliterated by blasts of shadow magic rippling from the arms of a far-off Lich perched atop the decrepit town hall in the town square. This undead monarch's laugh was chillier than a winter's gale as he sent blasts of frost and dark magic into the lines of the Scarlet Band. _I must get rid of him or we will surely fail_, Baelin thought, rushing towards the building, batting aside skeletons as he went.

Moments later, Baelin found himself in front of the doorway to the town hall; the door had been ripped from its hinges long ago and an open frame was all that greeted the Inquisitor. As he stepped towards the doorway, however, his senses tingled and he jumped back, just in time to dodge a crypt fiend that was rising from the ground, its arachnid form shaking off soil as it emerged from its burrow. Baelin's senses continued to run wild, and he spun around to see a group of undead surrounding him. _It was a trap all along, the damn Lich lured me here so I would die._ Baelin growled as he hefted his blade and beckoned towards his foes. "Come then, let's see if you filthy monsters can bring me down!"

Baelin's sword flashed around his body as he dove at the undead encircling him. As each came within range, the warrior beheaded it immediately before spinning to annihilate the next threat. Baelin was unsure how long this fight lasted, as each time he killed an enemy, four more seemed to appear as if at of nowhere. The Inquisitor, however, refused to tire, and, calling up the energy of the Light, continued to fight, his body shimmering with power as he cleaved through the hordes that bore down upon him.

After what seemed like hours of fighting, Baelin finally dispatched his final foe, a ghoul, with a stab through the chest. The Inquisitor panted, leaning on his sword briefly before turning to the building.

"Well done, human," the Lich called down from above, his right hand lazily sending a bolt of shadow magic into a screaming enclave of priests. "I must say I am impressed you slaughtered all of them."

"Is that all you have? Bring me more, I have strength to kill thousands more!" Baelin said confidently, disguising his heavy breathing. "But I will save that until after I have killed you. Wait for me, I will be beheading you shortly."

"I grow tired of these games," the Lich said lazily, pointing a bony index finger towards Baelin. Suddenly, six skeletal hands burst out of the ground and grabbed on Baelin's legs, holding the Inquisitor in place. The more Baelin struggled, the tighter the hands' grip seemed. "Now," the Lich continued, frost energy swirling around his body as he channeled a spell, "it is time for you to die!"

Baelin gasped as he saw the magical energy rise around the Lich. _This cannot be the end! _He thought, hacking vainly at the arms holding him; these bones, however, seemed hard as steel and the commander's sword bounced harmlessly off after each blow. "Damn you, Lich! Even if I die now, your days are numbered! It is only a matter of time before your bastard King Arthas is laid low by the Scarlet Crusade!"

"Your words mean nothing, especially now that you are about to be condemned to eternal silence," the Lich answered, now pointing both hands towards Baelin. "Sadly, you will not be able to enjoy the peace of de…" The Lich stopped speaking abruptly and the magic around him dissipated as his body sunk, collapsing on the building's roof. The skeletal hands restraining Baelin crumbled, and the surprised Inquisitor lost no time rushing behind the building and squinting into the distance. Atop a far away rise stood Elric and the scouts, their bows and crossbows having just fired a volley towards the roof.

"Elric, I knew I could count on you," Baelin said smiling, watching as the scouts began to pour fire on other sections of the battle. All around the Inquisitor the undead were dropping faster and faster; the bulk of their leaders now slain by the scouts, these creatures returned to their earlier state of weakness.

Meanwhile, several hundred yards away from Baelin, Captain Sonja took advantage of the weakening undead to attend the wounded. The skilled priest rushed over to fallen bodies and poured holy magic into them, healing their wounds before propelling them into the air with her abilities; using the holy levitation, Sonja moved the bodies to a safer area that was defended by warriors from her company, allowing this leader and her direct subordinates to save the lives of dozens of Crusaders. "We need to get you all back on your feet quickly," Sonja said as she closed the wounds of a once-dying magister. "It seems a path has been cleared, so we are probably going to get out of here soon."

Sonja's words were correct; already, the bulk of the Scarlet Band had reached the northern section of Andorhal and were breaking through the last few undead lines there. Aurora was at the forefront of this attack, holy energy erupting from every inch of her body to eradicate the undead menace.

_Damn, I wish we had the time and resources to reclaim this entire city_, Aurora mused, her hammer smashing a hole in the gut of an Abomination. The creature shuddered, immobile as the paladin vaulted onto its shoulders and crushed its head with one blow from her glowing maul, jumping back onto the ground as its body toppled onto several ranks of skeletons. _Sadly, we have too few soldiers for that. Someday, I know we will return to purge the rest of it._

"Come on, you slackers, keep moving forward!" Aurora yelled as soldiers rushed past her and across the city's north bridge. The battle had raged long enough for undead reserves to arrive from the sides of the city, and now it seemed time was more important than ever. _We need to stop dawdling; we do not want to become too conspicuous here, not before even getting close to Tyr's Hand!_ Aurora thought, her teeth gritted as she slew more of her enemies.

"You heard Captain Aurora, keep moving! I want all able-bodied troops near the center of the city to guard our withdrawal!" Baelin yelled, as he himself stood near the city's center, his sword at the ready as his subordinates, Delilah and Illana among them, rushed to his side. Baelin smiled as he watched Sonja and other priests helping the wounded onward, as he heard the whiz of Elric's crossbow bolts before their pierced the armor of the undead, as Warren's spells flew through the air before crushing his targets, and as Aurora's valiant war-cry echoed across the island. _The Scarlet Band may have had our share of disagreements, but we can all come together as one when the cause is just_, Baelin thought as the lines of undead rushed towards the rear-guard. _Now, more than ever, I feel we will fulfill Whitemane's Will. _

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The rearguard of the Scarlet Band were the last to leave the ruins of Andorhal. Though their faces were covered with grime and sweat, they also wore expressions of joy and victory.

"Excellent work," Baelin stated, almost breathless, sheathing his sword as he addressed the Scarlet Band who had assembled in ranks to await his arrival. "Our victory was almost flawless, and from what I can see casualties appear fairly minimal. You all fought valiantly and our attack went exactly according to plan. I must give special thanks to Captain Elric and the scouts for picking off most of the Scourge leaders." Cheers and clapping greeted these statements; Captain Elric merely nodded while others, such as Adrian, made a great show of bowing and playing to the shouts of 'hero.'

"Now, I know you are all tired, but we cannot afford to camp too close to Andorhal," Baelin said, his voice turning more serious. "Though we struck a great blow against the Undead there, it is only a matter of time before they regroup and replenish their ranks. Though we killed much of their leadership, I am sure some of their commanders escaped or were overlooked; they will surely want revenge after such a loss. We will march north for another three hours and then pitch camp for the night. Then, tomorrow, I intend for us to reach Hearthglen by the day's end. Now, let's get moving."

Without another word the Scarlet Band set off once again. Though tired from the fighting, these stout-hearted soldiers were invigorated by the victory and found new reserves of strength, allowing them to continue onward.

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"Where do you get off hogging the glory?" Aurora's voice was sour as she grabbed Elric by his collar and thrust him into a tree. "I know it was your mission to eliminate the Scourge leadership, but you took away my right to kill several of those Necromancers."

"As I recall," Elric replied, his voice monotone as if the situation did not phase him, "I saw you kill at least half a dozen over the course of the battle. Aren't you the greedy one here?"

Aurora let go of Elric and turned away. "Regardless, next time do not shoot a foe I am about to kill."

"I guess the next time an enemy is about to blast you apart from behind I will ignore it and wax my bowstring," Elric stated, his voice metered. "Do you find it necessary to pick fights with all the leadership of our organization?"

Aurora growled and turned back towards the sniper. "No, I just hate incompetence, weakness, and a disrespect for the laws of combat."

"Well, had I not slain as many foes as I had, perhaps you would be confronting me about my weakness, stating I am not fit to be a Captain," Elric replied. "Anyway, is there any more point to this confrontation? We had best hurry along to our nightly meeting with the Inquisitor." Elric walked past a fuming Aurora, the scout seeming to glide through the trees, head held high.

_Damn scouts, always so haughty when they fail to realize how pathetic they really are,_ Aurora thought, slamming her fist against the tree's trunk, biting in the bark with her hand. _Were I given my rightful rank as commander of this organization the fools would know their place. _

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"Wow, we really do make an excellent team," Delilah said as she sat beside Illana near the evening cooking fire.

"Yes, together we must have killed dozens of undead," the half-elf replied. "Of course, I accounted for most of that." Illana's voice held a hint of humor, her light-hearted nature returning as if the events of her past were temporarily forgotten.

"Oh?" Delilah said, her voice jovial as well. "But I saved you from dying quite a few times; it's no good trying to kill Scourge when your heart has stopped beating!" The two friends shared a good natured laugh as they roasted slabs of salted meat from one of the Scarlet Band's many storage crates.

"I am just glad we fared better than our past few battles," Illana said. "The death toll has decreased, probably because the Scourge are weaker than the Forsaken."

"Neither of your statements is correct," a voice interrupted the two friends, who turned to see an older female paladin walking towards them. "What the Scourge lack in the ability of the individual they make up for with their numbers and the power of their commanders. Also, the reason we are seeing greater success is because we are all getting stronger, especially youths like you." As the woman came closer, the light of the fire revealed her features to the young women.

"Amanda, good to see you!" Delilah rushed over, hugging her instructor. "Illana, this is my teacher, Amanda Sillwater, and this is my friend Illana Fa…"

"Just call me Illana," the half-elf cut off her friend, "and it is a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," Amanda responded. "I was just coming to congratulate you Delilah; I saw you fighting in the battle a few times and your skills really have improved."

"Well, a great deal of that is thanks to you," Delilah replied, "I think I have mastered the devotion aura and improved a lot of my basic abilities."

"Good, good," Amanda said, "but I cannot take all the credit. Your determination and strength of will are just as important as my tutelage. Anyway, I had best go for now, I promised to eat with some other friends, but I am sure we will get a chance to train together again once we reach Hearthglen. Goodbye, ladies!"

"Goodnight!" The two chimed in unison as the elder paladin walked off.

"You are lucky to have someone to teach you," Illana said, staring into the fire. "My last teachers were my parents, the Dalarani aside."

"Well, you could probably find one here if you wished," Delilah said. "And besides, you are already very skilled."

"Not nearly enough," Illana said, producing the ring she had found in the Tirisfal farmstead from her cloak. "This object is Elven in origin and acts as a nexus of power to increase my spellcasting capabilities. I, however, cannot risk using it or my stronger spells for fear my secret will be found out by more people here and I will be shunned and outcast, Baelin's defenses or not. I refuse to trust my training to those who would hate and fear me; their outward charity, if any, may be a deceptive ruse designed to kill me."

"You cannot be sure until you make the effort," Delilah stated.

Illana shook her head. "No, the time has passed for me to trust anyone without knowing them too well. I thought Captain Aurora might see my value as a soldier, race aside, but even her love of power is clouded by deep-seated racism. No, I must keep my secret, not only for my own sake but also for the sake of the Scarlet Band."

No more words were exchanged by the two the rest of the evening. Illana hastily finished her meat and returned to bed, leaving Delilah alone to stare at the stars before she, too, retired to her tent.

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"Once again, Captain Elric, I must congratulate you on your stellar performance in the Battle of Andorhal," Baelin stated, extending his arm and shaking hands with the marksman. "The rest of you also fought admirably and, as usual, were instrumental in turning the tide of the conflict. At this rate, we will surely reach Tyr's Hand and become strong enough to rid the land of Undead."

Elric merely nodded as a gesture of thanks as Baelin continued. "We should reach Hearthglen by nightfall tomorrow. Once there, we will attempt to secure reinforcements and supplies. I want all of you on your best behavior," the Inquisitor's eyes shifted towards Aurora as he spoke before turning back to the other captains. "With that in mind, you should all get some rest; it has been a long day."

One by one the captains exited the tent, first Elric, leaving in silence, then Sonja, waving her goodbyes, next Warren, bidding Baelin goodnight, and finally Aurora. As the Crimson Company's Captain moved to leave, however, Baelin placed a hand on her shoulder. "Aurora, we need to talk…"

With a flash, Aurora knocked Baelin's hand and way and wheeled to face him, fire in her eyes. She took a deep breath before replying, "What is it…commander?"

"Aurora, Elric told me that you confronted him about his actions in battle and, more or less, scolded him for doing his duty because of your desire for personal glory," Baelin's voice was straightforward, yet slightly harsh.

"That is true, to a degree," Aurora answered. "I did not desire glory, merely to kill those vile necromancers with my own hands. Elric and his crew robbed me of that chance more than once."

"As long as our foes fall, does it truly matter who kills them?" Baelin asked.

Aurora paused before replying. "I…suppose not. I apologize, _Inquisitor_." She emphasized the final word further by narrowing her eyes at Baelin.

"Aurora, do you think I _enjoy_ scolding you? Do you think I like seeing dissent among my captains? You are all respected and idolized by the troops; what you do will influence the way they act. You have more responsibility than you realize."

"Do not lecture me, Baelin," Aurora shot back. "If you want to demote me, fine, but you realize that I am integral to the success of our mission. Furthermore, you realize your rank is as ill-deserved as I do." With that, Aurora stomped out of the tent, leaving Baelin speechless.

_Damn it all,_ Baelin thought, kneeling and slamming his fist into the tough turf. _Whitemane…was this truly your intention?_

Character Profile: Elric Isana

Age: 36

Rank: Captain of the Scarlet Band, former Lieutenant of the 7th Scouting Battalion

Affiliation: Leader of the Scarlet Band's Cinnabar Company, formerly a Lieutenant in the 7th Scouting Battalion in the Scarlet Monastery's Cathedral

Abilities: Elric is a highly skilled marksman, able to hit a target accurately from a distance of one hundred yards. He favors crossbows, always carrying at least two pre-loaded crossbows which he hangs from his back. Elric is skilled enough that he can load a crossbow in half the time it takes an average soldier. He also carries half a dozen throwing knives and two throwing axes which he hangs from his belt; the axes double as close-combat weapons should the need arise. Elric also carries a longbow which he slings over his shoulders, but he rarely uses it.

Appearance: Elric is five feet ten inches tall and has a slim build. His hair is dark blonde and his eyes are light blue. He wears a pair of thin spectacles and a red tunic which is reversible to become green when he is in the field. He wears a patch on his right shoulder with the insignia of the Scarlet Crusade, regardless of his outfit.

HES: Hello again, all! Sorry the update took longer than expected, this chapter has been more difficult to write than some of the others. Thanks again for all the reviews and feedback, I really appreciate hearing what you all have to say. I also have to offer a special thanks to my good friend OmegaTrooper for allowing me to use one of his characters and reference another for Illana's flashback. As always, please write a review, I read and consider every one! Until next time!


	7. Judgement's Severe Decree

Chapter 7: Judgment's Severe Decree

The Scarlet Band set out early the next morning towards Hearthglen, wanting to waste no time in reaching the checkpoint. As they marched they encountered minimal resistance from the Scourge, fighting a small skirmish with clumps of undead forces here and there; these enemy forces were small, however, and were easily dispatched by the Scarlet Band.

As the group trudged further and further north, more signs of the war a few years before became evident. Destroyed farmsteads dotted the area, their rotting fields and decrepit buildings now only existing as homes for Scourge minions. The once proud roads of Lordaeron had fallen into disrepair, their cobblestones cracking and weathering under moss and lichen. Corpses lay scattered about, some of them the final soldiers of the army of Lordaeron who had fought vainly to turn back the Undead. Most Scarlet Crusaders passed without a word, their minds focused on the tasks ahead rather than the failures of the past.

Rain started to fall as the afternoon began, but it did not deter the Scarlet Band; they trudged onward, their sights set only on Hearthglen. Delilah shivered briefly as the rain began to fall, the chilly water running through her armor; as time went on, however, it came to feel soothing, as if these drops from heaven were cleansing her soul of impurity. She stared up through the falling sheets of liquid and cracked a small grin, thanking the Light for giving this troubled land some sort of recognition. _The Light never abandons a pure soul,_ Delilah mused, moving onward behind her peers.

The rain slacked slightly as noon passed, and soon it was little more than a drizzle. Inquisitor Baelin, like most of the Scarlet Band, was mute the entire way, pondering both the past and future. _We have come so far, both in terms of distance and growth, _Baelin thought, tilting his head to survey his troops. _It is hard to believe that only a little over a month ago we left the monastery. All the years spent in that place…nothing remains but memories._

The Scarlet Band headed onwards, passing over a series of hills. _Hearthglen is not far away,_ Baelin thought as he marched over the rise. _It seems we made better time than I expected._ As they headed onward, the rain increased once again, this time accompanied by a strong gale.

As Baelin crossed the hill, however, he jolted back, stunned. Standing at the base of the hill and for miles beyond stood a massive Scourge army.

Ranks upon ranks upon ranks of undead marched ahead, their bodies moving inexorably to the town of Hearthglen in the distance. Baelin could already see the front lines of the Scourge forces had met the Hearthglen's defenders, the two sides tearing into one another above the sound of distant thunder. Though a powerful bastion of the Crusade's power, Hearthglen did not possess the troops or supplies to weather such a massive siege.

"Damn it all, at a time like this?" Baelin muttered to himself as the first few members of the Scarlet Band crossed the hill to stand next to him. The Inquisitor turned to his forces a bellowed out a single sentence: "The Scourge stand between us and Hearthglen; kill them all!" The Scarlet Band charged forward their voices rising even above the pouring rain as they rushed down the hillsides and met the Scourge lines.

Delilah and Illana nodded to one another as the duo burst ahead, blasts of magic and holy energy signaling their advance as they charged into the fray. Three skeletons met their end beneath Delilah's maul while behind them a corps of ghouls was reduced to ash from Illana's magical barrage.

Not wanting to fall behind, Adrian Loksey rushed ahead, trying his best to ignore the dull pain that still stung his leg. The archer drew his bow and fired two arrows in rapid succession, felling a gargoyle as it flapped towards an unwary priest. "Keep your wits about you!" Adrian called to the healer as he slid down a hill, the friction of his boots on the soil eventually bringing him to a halt at the base of the rise. Instantly realizing his mistake, the scout smacked himself in the head and scrambled back up the hill. _Stop trying to look impressive and focus on victory._

Far away, the garrison at Hearthglen was doing its best to hold back the tide of Scourge. The outer walls of the settlement were lined with archers and mages who rained death upon their foes, while outside a battalion of infantry fought tooth and nail to stave off their unliving adversaries. Their forces were meager, however, and each minute more humans met their death.

From afar, Elric sighted a flock of gargoyles flying in loose formation towards the walls of Hearthglen. _Damn, if those monsters reach the sentries, the city will fall before we are close enough to have an impact,_ the scout captain considered. He raised his crossbow and closed his left eye, taking note of three of the creatures clumped close together; letting loose a single bolt, Elric watched as the missile pierced the skull of all three is succession. The marksman smiled as the beasts fell from the air to crush some of their undead allies on the ground.

Baelin winced as a skeleton's rusty scimitar sliced a chunk out of his right arm. The swordsman fought against the pain and brought his blade around to behead the creature, wheeling to slay six others as he dispatched his first target. _We are not making enough progress,_ Baelin thought, holy energy radiating from his body and weapon as he charged and gutted an abomination with help from several pikemen. _There are too many ranks of undead, at this rate we will reach Hearthglen only to find a pile of corpses and ruined buildings._ Suddenly, Baelin spied a large, wooden object several hundred yards away, smiling as an idea struck him. "Where the hell is Elric?" The Inquisitor called out.

"I saw him over yonder," one of the pikemen indicated with the point of his weapon.

"Thanks," Baelin called out, rushing towards the scout captain.

Elsewhere, Aurora and Warren fought nearby, their mutual grudges emerging as a contest for kills. The paladin was silent as she hastened to slice apart sixteen zombies with her bastard sword before a blast of Warren's magic could silence them. Angrily, the mage sent a swathe of energy to the foot of a hill where countless skeletons and ghouls clamored, turning their forms into ash. Aurora responded in kind, releasing waves of radiant power to slaughter all the undead in a radius of several dozen yards around her.

Meanwhile, Sonja had taken a group of priests around the outskirts of the battle to collect and heal the injured, all the while blasting holy magic into the ranks of the Scourge and occasionally bringing down a necromancer, causing all the undead in the region to crumble. At one point, several groups of undead surrounded the group as they were busy healing the wounded yet, as these foes appeared, Sonja smiled and released her trap; crying "For the Crusade!" the skilled priest activated a series of holy sigils she had placed around the refuge, creating a barrier that killed any undead that came in contact with it. "This should buy us an hour, at the very least," Sonja informed her compatriots. "Let's work quickly to get these troops back into the fray."

"What are your orders commander?" Elric asked, rushing alongside Baelin who cut apart whatever enemies stood in their way.

"Can you operate siege weaponry?" The Inquisitor asked, kicking aside a ghoul who had lunged towards an injured soldier.

"Yes," Elric replied simply, firing a bolt into a crypt fiend's abdomen, its innards spraying out as it spasmed before dying in a heap of its kin.

"Good, I am about to ask for you to perform a favor for me. You need to follow my orders to the letter, no matter how foolish it may sound." Baelin replied as they reached the shape he had seen earlier, a former Scarlet Crusade ballista that had been abandoned as the Scourge advanced; it was partially damaged, but still in working order.

"What must I do?" Elric asked.

Baelin chuckled, climbing into the ballista's loading bay. "I need you to fire me into Hearthglen."

"Sir…" Elric began, "while I am bound to comply with any command you issue, I also must note that this is a suicidal and foolhardy endeavor."

"Do not worry," Baelin said, winking a giving Elric a thumbs up, "I have a special plan the will turn the tide of this battle in our favor."

Elric sighed as he cranked the siege weapon's levers. "Commencing firing in, three, two, one," and with that, Baelin was launched high into the air. The battle seemed to stop momentarily, as Scarlet Crusaders and Scourge leaders looked up at the flying swordsman, the Scourge shock troops momentarily immobile as their commanders gave no direct commands.

Snapping back to attention almost immediately after the spectacle, the Scarlet Crusaders struck first, bringing down dozens of undead. The Necromancers and Lichs commanding the force could not react as quickly, and attempted to hastily re-exert influence over their troops. Some of them, however, we so focused on reanimating corpses and issuing new commands that they were unwary of the blades, holy magic, and arrows that sailed towards the undead leaders.

Baelin fought against air resistance as he sailed over the battle, his left hand struggling to pull a small object from beneath his armor. The Inquisitor smiled as he clasped the token, his expression turning to fear as he flew over the walls of Hearthglen and landed face-first in the cold dirt of the Plaguelands.

"Who in the Light's name are you and what are you doing here?" A gruff voice greeted Baelin as he coughed up soil and pushed himself to his feet, fighting against the pain throbbing in his entire body.

"I am Inquisitor Baelin, leader of the Scarlet Band, but there will be time for explanation later," the commander stated as he regained his footing. He looked around, noting that he was surrounded by a small battalion of Scarlet Crusade soldiers. Those whose faces were not covered by helmets showed evidence of malnourishment and tiredness, but all held expressions of determination. _They must be the reserves,_ Baelin thought, blocking out the sounds of combat from beyond the wall. _Anyway, I had best act now if I want to protect as many lives as I can. I had planned to save this for the Eastern Plaguelands, but if Hearthglen falls now our chances of reaching there are slim._

Baelin unclenched his left hand to reveal the key to his plan: resting atop his gloved palm was a silver figurine only about the length of a child's index finger. This relic was molded in the shape of Uther the Lightbringer, showing the heroic paladin hefting his hammer high with one hand while clutching a magical tome beneath his opposite arm.

Baelin closed his eyes and began to focus, blocking out the sounds of voices, weapons, explosions…He had never been adept at manipulating the powers of the Light beyond mere martial enhancement, but now Baelin felt a deeper connection to it, the bright energy percolating through him as he used the Icon of Uther as a focal point. All around the Inquisitor, Scarlet Crusaders slowed down, their bodies feeling drained. Some were awe-struck, others fearful, others oblivious as streams of holy energy edged out of their bodies. These streams of power came from the area all around Hearthglen, forming a veritable web of gold that moved rapidly towards Baelin's icon.

The Undead took notice as the Scarlet Crusaders were sapped of power, their mouths chittering in ecstasy to reflect the overjoyed feelings of their controllers. Skeletons, zombies, ghouls, crypt fiends, gargoyles, abominations, and other undead creations pushed forward, scything down rank after rank of the human troops who now moved sluggishly.

"What…the hell…is going on?" Delilah panted, watching in horror as her devotion aura dissipated. The paladin attempted to call upon the Light to revitalize herself, but every time she did the energy siphoned out of her, moving inexplicably towards the walls of Hearthglen.

"I'm…not sure…" Illana muttered, sending out small blasts of arcane energy to stave off the undead that approached the two young women. _At least no one will mind if I call upon others powers at a time like this…_

Others, however, fared far better. Some of the basic melee troops as well as the scouts continued to fight on full force, most of them using little or none of the Light's powers to accentuate their fighting. "Form a ring around any priests or paladins you see and protect them for as long as necessary!" Elric ordered, beckoning to a group of warriors and archers to follow him, Adrian and Gareth among them.

_It's time. _Inquisitor Baelin's eyes snapped open and he held Uther's Icon above his head, the silver statue radiating a brilliant golden light. _Those that died while I enacted this plan…forgive me. Your sacrifice will mean our victory and that many more will survive in the future._ The holy blademaster took a deep breath before roaring out an oath that boomed across the entirety of Hearthglen and its immediate surroundings.

"Gathering together the energy of all the Light's disciples, I have set in motion the end of this Scourge army! Heathens, monsters, blights upon Lordaeron, prepare to die, to become no more than dust and a hated memory, for on this day you fall! In the name of Lordaeron, in the name of the Scarlet Crusade, in the name of Uther the Lightbringer, I judge you all!"

As Baelin finished speaking, the statue shattered. For a moment, nothing happened, and the Scarlet Crusaders in Baelin's immediate vicinity became overcome with fear that his plan had failed. Yet, after a time that seemed an eternity, a radiant orb hovered where the icon had exploded; this ball existed for but a moment, for then it blasted apart, shattering into thousands of golden strands that arced in all directions. These streams of holy energy pinpointed undead, skewering their targets. As the beams of light struck their targets, the Scourge soldiers were blown apart by the pure energy of justice. Some of the Scourge troops fought on, their masters hoping to gain a desperate victory or cause a few more casualties; others were dumbstruck, their commanders killed almost instantaneously by Baelin's assault, their immobile or sluggish forms easy targets for even the tired Scarlet Crusaders.

"A….miracle…" one of the emaciated Scarlet Crusaders in Hearthglen rasped, rushing beside his comrades to prop up the exhausted Inquisitor.

"How…was that possible?" Another asked, amazed.

"I am sure he will explain all when he awakes," a voice replied from far away. The soldiers turned and immediately saluted the figure before them. "Bring him inside the chapel and invite his forces inside our gates. Whoever they are, they serve our cause. I have much to discuss with them."

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"I am not sure how much longer he will be out, so we must speak quickly," the hushed voice of Captain Warren spoke within the basement of Hearthglen's chapel.

"Indeed," the figure sitting at the opposite end of the pine table replied. "I will save my questions about this organization for that…Inquisitor."

"There is a matter of delicacy I wish you to help me plan," Warren continued. "Currently, Baelin has a tenuous hold on leadership of our forces. Meanwhile, he has met harsh opposition from Aurora Cronos, who in turn acts as a nightmare towards me. I fear that before we can hope to complete the mission set out for us these two will cause a rift in our organization."

"So you mean to suggest that we need to prevent these two from fighting somehow?" The figure replied, the candlelight illuminating his bald head and small patches of hair around his brow.

"Quite the opposite, old friend," Warren replied, smirking. "We need to encourage their animosity."

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"…and so I dubbed our organization the Scarlet Band," Baelin finished, his voice still slow. He paused to take a sip of water from a skin on the table before him. "Any more questions, Grand Inquisitor?"

"No, not at all," the leader of Hearthglen, Grand Inquisitor Isillien, replied. The man had aged considerably in but a few short years, much of his hair graying and falling out while countless wrinkles appeared on his face. Yet, as he aged his magical knowledge and aptitude only increased, and rumor held that he was the most powerful mage in the Scarlet Crusade and perhaps even all of Lordaeron. "My old friend Warren informed me of much while you slept."

"Yes, we met back during the late days of the Second War," Warren cut in. "We were rivals for a bit, always attempting to outdo the other's spells."

The assembled leadership of both Hearthglen and the Scarlet Band laughed at this statement, some out of joviality while others forced the excitement. The mood was a mix of joy and hatred; one battle had been won, but others personal struggles still gnawed at the minds of those present.

_At least Warren is trustworthy,_ Baelin thought, scanning the faces of the assembled. _I was initially afraid to meet the Grand Inquisitor, but he seems kind enough. Aurora also appears to be enjoying herself…_

"I lied," Isillien interrupted Baelin's train of thought, "I do have another query. How did you manage that spell that slaughtered the remnants of the Scourge army?"

Baelin cleared his throat before beginning. "I utilized an Icon of Siphoning."

"You bastard, why would you take that risk?" Aurora roared, slamming her fist on the table. Sonja grabbed Aurora's arm and shook her head, but the paladin slapped it away. "We could have all died!"

"Most of us almost did," Isillien broke in, "but let him continue. Ultimately, his plan worked, and that is what matters."

"Thank you, Grand Inquisitor," Baelin said, making sure to honor his host and superior. He then turned and noted Elric's perplexed expression and continued. "An Icon of Siphoning is a magical object that can draw out all energy of a specific type over a specific area and concentrate it into one place before re-releasing it. If the amount of power gathered is small, the icon can store the power for a long period. If, however, a massive level of energy is stored, such as in our case, the icon will shatter and release the stored power almost immediately.

"The one I possessed was an icon of Uther the Lightbringer which was able to siphon and release holy energy. Inquisitor Whitemane gave me this gift about a year ago and instructed me to use it in dire circumstances. I knew that the battle was not in our favor, and had I not acted Hearthglen may not be standing at this moment."

"An apt assessment, to be sure," Isillien said, "though it did leave many of us drained and probably will for a few days to come."

"Indeed," Baelin replied. "Now, if I am not being too brash, may I make a request, Grand Inquisitor?"

"Certainly," the gaining wizard answered.

"The Scarlet Band has lost almost a third of its number since setting out," Baelin began, "and much of our supplies had to be abandoned in favor of faster marches. May I request reinforcements and rations from Hearthglen?"

At that, Isillien burst into a fit of laughter, spittle flying from his gaping mouth as he slammed the table and stomped his feet. When the wizard had finished his tantrum of guffaws and giggles he spoke. "Look around you, Inquisitor. Here we have barely two and a half thousand troops, and we have not even finished taking stock of our casualties. Several of our greatest generals died in that struggle, leaving me the sole commander of this position. The few men we have are malnourished; the soil gives us nothing trustworthy and our food stores are dwindling. We have managed to barter with certain shadier Alliance envoys for supplies, but the last shipment came over two months ago and I fear our business partners were either caught, slain, or both." Isillien sighed. "The only aid I can provide in my council and lodging for you and your troops. You may stay as long as you like, provided you use your own stores of vittles."

Baelin sighed and nodded. "I understand. I thank you for your hospitality, Grand Inquisitor. Our mission requires the utmost haste, and so we will not plan to stay more than one week. Come," Baelin beckoned to his captains, "let's take stock of our soldiers and start moving them to the houses of Hearthglen."

The captains made for the door, leaving the room one by one. Warren was the last one to the door, flashing a quick grin to Isillien before exiting.

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"This is…cozy I guess," Delilah muttered as she, Illana, and another female crusader, a priestess by the name of Helene, entered one of houses of Hearthglen. This was one of the buildings that had fallen into worse repair, its roof featuring many poorly patched holes and two of its four ground floor windows smashed.

"Better than sleeping in the elements," Helene muttered curtly. "You two can have the front room, I will take the bedroom." The priestess, who must have only been two years older than Delilah, exuded an air of superiority as she waltzed into the other room. "Do not disturb me," she called out as she slammed the door behind her.

"What a bitch…" Delilah uttered through gritted teeth.

"Calm down, she is probably just on edge like we all are," Illana said. "Besides, this room is fine." Illana swept her hands in a circle and summoned a gust of wind to blow out much of the dust and debris. "Let's set up our blankets for now and then see about some food."

Before Delilah could comply with this request, the door to the house burst open and a breathless looking messenger rushed in. He was a red-faced youth, perhaps only in his early teens, with pale blonde hair and tired hazel eyes. "Are any capable healers in this house?"

"Yes," Delilah replied immediately, "what seems to be the trouble?"

"The holy magic drain was worse than we feared, and the priests we have are unable to keep up with the flood of casualties. Come with me and I will direct you to a patient," the envoy answered.

"Should I get Hel…" Illana began.

"No," Delilah cut in. "Let her sleep, she probably would not trouble herself with such a thing anyway." Delilah turned to the messenger. "Let's get going."

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"Here," the red-faced messenger stated, indicating a house before Delilah. "Sorry to leave you so hurriedly, but I must search for others to help out our wounded."

"I understand, thanks," Delilah replied, pushing aside the rotting oak door, the creak of the hinges echoing through the room she entered. Instantly, Delilah was repulsed by the smell of rotting flesh and the sound of screams: before her in the room lay half a dozen Scarlet Crusaders in various states of injury being treated by a cadre of priests huddled over them. One woman was missing an arm, while another man seemed to have lost both his eyes. Delilah had seen much carnage in her short life, but seeing it so readily and collected, especially on the bodies of humans, made her gag.

"We don't need you here, girlie!" A surly, older male priest called out as he pushed out holy magic to relax a man who had suffered several puncture wounds to the gut. "Move upstairs and attend the patient there!"

"As if he will take to her," another priest laughed as Delilah made for the creaking wooden stairs.

_I wonder who is upstairs,_ Delilah thought as she passed several faded portraits on the walls beside the stairway. _It must be someone of some importance, judging by the way they spoke and the size of this building. I wonder…_

Delilah reached the top of the stairs and entered the single second floor room of the house. There, before her, a single figure lay on a bed, the sheets stained with blood.

"Damn it, I told you to tend to the soldiers! Leave me be, I will be fine!" A gruff but familiar voice roared from under the sheets. Delilah rushed over to the bedside, only to have a hand shoot out from under the covers in an attempt to usher her away. She recoiled slightly as she saw the arm was covered with lacerations and bruising.

"In…Inquisitor, is that you?" Delilah stuttered, edging closer to the covers. The sheets peeled back slowly at first, and the figure below nodded.

"Yes, it is I," Baelin said, his voice somewhat hoarse from yelling, "but I do not need aid, help the soldiers first. I have survived worse than this."

"But..sir…you are so…damaged…how? Why?"

Baelin's eyes opened as he heard her voice again. "Delilah….Delilah Corwin is it not?"

"Yes, sir." She replied, hiding her happiness that her handsome superior had remembered her name.

"Initially, I only had a few broken ribs from my gambit," Baelin stated. "Surely you heard how I had Elric fire me over the walls so I could be in the best position to use my Icon?"

"Yes, sir, it is the talk of the Scarlet Band," Delilah answered.

Baelin nodded. "I fought through the pain and ignored treatment, but it seems as if I may have pushed myself a bit far moving from meeting to meeting and inspecting the troops. I even had the bad luck of falling on the stairs as I came up here, but luckily no one saw. Please keep that a secret," Baelin winked, "it would be bad if someone like we could be injured by something so mundane."

Delilah chuckled as that statement and sat down on the bedside. "Admirable, sir, but I think you really do require healing. I was assigned to this post and the priests downstairs want none of my aid. I might as well make the best of my time and do what little I can."

"Since you seem so persistent, I suppose I can grant you the option," Baelin replied, sighing sarcastically.

Delilah's heart beat as she gathered holy energy and clasped Baelin's arm, closing up the wounds one by one, watching as the splinters from his fall exited his flesh. She moved her hand slowly forward, and soon his entire arm was healed.

"Sir…" Delilah blushed as she continued. "If I am to heal your ribs I will need you to remove your breastplate, tabard, and tunic."

"Indeed," Baelin said, removing his tabard and placing it on a bedside table before undoing the clasps of his chest armor. "It is hard to part a soldier from his armor, but I suppose I can trust one of my own."

Delilah shuddered as she felt an elation of joy and fear; beneath Baelin's shirt lay both the well-toned body of a warrior as well as a series of large bruises and gashes, noting his shattered ribs. The paladin was speechless as she edged closer, running her hand along his torso to seal the wounds. Baelin's face relaxed as the soothing energy of the Light began to mend his broken bones, his thoughts tracing back to a time before such pain and struggles, his eyes closing…

The shimmering energy around Delilah's palms dissipated and she moved closer to Baelin, tracing his chest with her hands alone, unsure if he knew the healing was complete. She stared at his visage; it was so attractive despite the battering of both war and the tribulations of a commander. She moved her face closer to his own, her lips parting…

"Corwin? What the hell are you doing?"

Delilah shot back as a stern voice from behind caught her attention. Baelin opened his eyes, oblivious to his healer's actions over the past several dozen seconds. The two sitting on the bed looked towards the doorway to see a single, imposing figure standing erect, the lone body silhouetted by lanterns from behind.

"Captain Aurora, what is your business here?" Baelin asked, addressing the woman as she entered the chamber.

"I will speak once Corwin leaves. Sorry to interrupt your casual affair, but we have business to discuss," Aurora stated harshly.

"I…we….were not…" Delilah stammered briefly, before simply nodding and rushing out of the room.

"You read too much into things," Baelin sighed, "she was just healing me."

"Oh, is that all?" Aurora questioned, eyebrows raised. "It looked a bit different from where I stood, and surely would have become much more had I not entered. You always did place such high value in women."

"That part of me is dead," the Inquisitor replied sharply.

"Oh, I know that well," Aurora said, walking beside the bed and placing her hands on her hips. "Anyway, how are you holding up, commander?"

"Well enough, thanks," Baelin replied. "Thanks to Delilah I should be fighting fit by tomorrow. Perhaps we can leave earlier than anticipated." Baelin took a deep breath and continued. "Aurora, it means a lot to me that you would visit me at such a time to offer your support."

At this, the paladin cracked a smile. "Oh, it is for much more than that," Aurora chuckled. "Once you are healed, I would like to propose a challenge."

"Challenge?" Baelin's voice was quizzical, his confusion rising.

Aurora kneeled one the bed and brought her face inches from Baelin's, her breath cresting his face as she spoke. "We are going to have a duel to decide the leadership of the Scarlet Band. I dislike the choices you have made, and Grand Inquisitor Isillien has approved such a challenge under our laws. We will meet tomorrow at sunset in the town square for combat. Fight your best and hold nothing back."

Aurora stood up and made for the door of the room, but not before Baelin asked a final question. "Am I to understand this will be a duel to the death?"

The paladin did not turn around but replied simply. "What else would you expect?"

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Word of Aurora's challenge spread rapidly through the populace of Hearthglen and the Scarlet Band alike. As the day wore on, more and more people flocked to the town square, hoping to get the best view possible of this fight that promised to be truly spectacular, if brutal.

Some were excited for the combat, hoping that either Aurora would bring them new, stronger leadership, or that Baelin would cement his power. Others were dismayed, fearful that this contest would cause a great schism within the Scarlet Band. Still others were troubled about further implications, such as how this spat would reflect on the Scarlet Band in the eyes of the Crusade's leadership. Still others did not care about the outcome and merely hoped for some entertainment now that the Undead had been temporarily subdued.

Aurora was the first to arrive, striding gallantly into the square, her steel capped boots echoing on the granite cobblestones. She cut an imposing figure, combining beauty and deadliness flawlessly into a single form. As the sun set her armor was illuminated a glowing gold, a harbinger to the aura this skilled practitioner of the holy arts would surely utilize. She had temporarily abandoned most of her weapons, leaving her bastard sword, daggers, and other miscellaneous weapons in the care of a squire. She needed only one weapon for this combat: her enchanted hammer, _Uther's Arm_.

Whispers circulated around the crowd as the minutes droned on with no sign of Baelin. Some believed he had become too fearful and had abandoned the duel, but others argued that a man of such honor would arrive, even if late. A few souls even wagered that he was late because he was in the process of preparing some sort of ultimate strategy for this battle. Whatever the case, all voices fell silent as only a sliver of the sun shone over the distant hills: the Inquisitor had arrived.

Baelin stood stolid, the swordsman approaching flanked two squires wearing the crest of the Scarlet Crusade. The Inquisitor wore his standard garb, as well as a bright, swirling, crimson cape that flapped in the rising breeze. When the trio entered the square, Baelin removed his cloak and handed it to the left squire, while the right squire handed the man his greatsword, _Purity's Fang_. After a quick nod of thanks, Baelin unsheathed his blade and threw his scabbard behind him; the former right squire rushed to catch it before disappearing into the crowd with his accomplice.

"Ah, so you finally arrive, Inquisitor," a voice as dry and gnarled as the wood of Hearthglen's few trees spoke, emanating from the personage of Isillien who appeared in the center of the square in a flash of bright light. "I will be acting as judge and arbiter for this contest."

"I assumed this fight was to have no rules," Aurora growled.

"It will not, which should make my job quite easy," Isillien replied, teleporting to the roof of a nearby blacksmith's shop. "I am here merely to tell you to begin."

"Before we start," Baelin yelled, "I want everyone to move at least a quarter of a mile back. Feel free to watch, but I do not want any innocent lives lost in this conflict." Most heeded the Inquisitor's words and ran back, but a few cavalier soldiers stayed closer to the action.

_Inquisitor…please survive,_ Delilah thought, rushing away from the square before turning to get a look at the unfolding action. _There is much I wish to say to you…_

_Whoever wins, I come out on top,_ Warren thought, wringing his hands with delight. _Once I am in command of this operation, it will be no time at all before I can gain influence over the Scarlet Crusade and take the fight to the Scourge the proper way._

Aurora and Baelin gazed at one another for several moments, the wind brushing against their bodies as the two looked for an opening. Then, with a snap of action, the two mighty crusaders rushed towards one another, weapons raised to strike.

Wind whipped from between the combatants as the weapons slammed into one another, each shimmering with holy energy. Both fighters gritted their teeth and pushed with full strength, their boots biting into the ground and cracking the stones beneath their feet as power surged from the two. Though Baelin possessed greater musculature, Aurora was able to call upon greater amounts of holy energy to increase her strength, making their attacks cancel one another out.

Baelin was the first to pull back his weapon, swinging his sword at full speed towards Aurora's head. The paladin easily ducked the blow and aimed her hammer at Baelin's gut, but the wary warrior sidestepped the attack and turned his sword back towards his foe. A rapid series of slices and strikes followed, as the combatants parried or dodged one another's attacks, unable to find an opening in the opposing defense.

"It's….incredible," Adrian whispered to Gareth and several other scouts. "I have seen them fight…but never at this level." Cries of amazement echoed as a golden aura surrounded Aurora and Baelin was momentarily forced back, shifting his head aside just in time to avoid a kick and the whirling maul of Aurora's mace.

"This is nothing," Elric muttered. "These two have barely started to unlock their full potential. The real battle will not start until one of them suffers serious injury."

The scout captain's words seemed to trigger the event, as Baelin's blade sliced towards Aurora's left shoulder. The shimmering energy around sword bit into the golden aura, attempting to cut through as the two rubbed against one another. Yet, after a split second, the blade bit through a ripped a huge gash out of Aurora's skin and clothing, sending a jet of blood spraying over the two duelists and the ground beneath them.

Aurora flashed a quick smile following a grimace of pain, using this position to take advantage of her weapon's shorter range. Baelin grunted as he felt a hollow pain in his stomach seconds before he was flung backwards by the force of Aurora's blow. The Inquisitor coughed up blood as he pushed himself to standing position, shaking off the rubble of a wall Aurora's strike had sent him into.

"A fine move to be sure, Aurora," Baelin stated, hefting his sword single-handedly to point at the paladin, a greater supply of holy energy circling around the hilt and blade. "But you are doomed to lose. Whitemane chose the most powerful successor; you are skilled, but you cannot win. Surrender now and let's avoid bloodshed. I would rather have you as an ally…"

"Bite your tongue, scoundrel," Aurora replied, transferring her hammer to her left hand and moving her right to begin summoning the healing magic to seal her wound. "You violated Whitemane's Will, you are the one who acted as an underhanded dog, tossing aside truths and allies to construct your vile rise to power."

Baelin gritted his teeth and took a step forward. "You understand _nothing_, Aurora. Put the past you cannot comprehend behind you and focus on the present. What is best for the Scarlet Crusade is to slaughter the undead!"

"I agree," Aurora replied, "but that mission will fail with you at the head. This organization is better left to one with the conviction to do anything for victory, to take steps you would fear. That is why your unconditional surrender is not nearly enough; I will not be satisfied unless you die."

"There is no helping it, then," Baelin growled, stepping forward. "Another round then. Perhaps if I lacerate you a bit more we will begin to see eye to eye."

Aurora laughed and raised her hammer with both hands, her shoulder wound now gone and only a bare patch of skin remaining. "In a few moments, you may see nothing save the dirt of Lordaeron!"

The two leaders charged at one another, holy energy surging from their bodies as startled onlookers viewed the combat. As Baelin and Aurora's battlecries merged into a single roar, as their voices were drowned out by even the louder noise of their weapons clashing, the combatants thought back to their past, a shared past, in the Scarlet Monastery…

Character Profile: Baelin Briarbrand

Age: 26

Rank: Inquisitor of the Scarlet Band, former Captain of the 4th Warrior Battalion

Affiliation: Leader of the Scarlet Band, formerly a Captain of the 4th Warrior Battalion in the Scarlet Monastery's Cathedral

Abilities: Baelin is a highly adept warrior who is trained in an elite style of swordsmanship. Though not a paladin, he is able to harness the Light's energy to a small degree which he uses to increase the cutting abilities of his blade and further enhance its destructiveness against undead foes. Baelin is also able to fight with both sword and shield, though he prefers to use a two-handed sword and his natural reflexes to dodge most enemy attacks. He has also exhibited a high level of toughness and stamina, able to shrug off blows that would severely injure or kill a lesser man.

Appearance: Baelin is five feet eight inches tall and has an athletic build with a decent level of musculature. His hair is black and his eyes are dark brown. He wears a suit of crimson platemail armor over a layer of chainmail and burgundy-hued leather. He wears a traditional Scarlet Crusade tabard with a small stitching of a stylized "W" under the Insignia of the Crusade.

HES: Hello again all, sorry for the late update. With summer ending I have been scrambling to get things in order and see friends before heading back to school. I should be able to update at least once more before the end of august. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter; things are certainly starting to heat up within the Scarlet Band! What of Delilah's attraction to Baelin? Will he even survive this fight with Aurora? What is the Will of Whitemane? And how are Aurora and Baelin's pasts interconnected? You will just have to read the next chapter to find out!

As always, thanks for the reviews! Please review this chapter if you have any feedback or constructive criticism to provide! Until next time!


	8. Whitemane's Will

Chapter 8: Whitemane's Will

"Hurry up!" The gruff voice of Harold Fierhock, Captain of the Scarlet Monastery's 4th Warrior Battalion, barked as he watched the line of soldiers file past him. _These tykes wouldn't have lasted a second against the first waves of Undead, and I am supposed to make them fit enough to tackle the newer forces of the Scourge and Forsaken?_

Baelin Briarbrand rushed past his superior, the young soldier panting as he attempted to keep pace with his fitter comrades. No matter how hard he trained, Baelin felt his strength never improved, or at least not to the level of his peers.

"Come on, come on!" Fierhock bellowed, his right index finger extended towards the training field outside the Scarlet Monastery. The Captain growled as he saw the opponents that the higher-ups had selected for his unit to train against: the 8th Paladin Battalion. This fact was doubly bad for Fierhock's reputation; not only was his unit considered one of the weakest in the entirety of the monastery's forces but also this group of paladins were some of the best soldiers in the Scarlet Crusade. _Looks like I will have to wait another few years for that promotion…_

The two forces took their positions on one of the terraces that jutted from the massive hill where the Scarlet Monastery rested. The Paladins had arrived over an hour in advance, and most of them were using the time to practice basic spells and attacks. As the warriors from Fierhock's battalion arrived, the paladins snapped to order and formed a single line.

"Nice of you to arrive at all, Fierhock," the scathing voice of Jorel Scalburn, Captain of the 8th Paladin Battalion, greeted his rival.

"Shut your trap, Scalburn," the elder crusader growled. "Let's get this over with."

"I could not agree more," Scalburn answered, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Troops, you may begin when ready!"

"Yes, sir!" The unit of paladins roared as one, rushing towards the disordered mass of warriors before them.

"You bastard, my men were not ready!" Fierhock roared, gesturing towards his troops' loose formation and startled facial features.

"Feh, it is not like you always get time to prepare for battle," Scalburn replied. "See this as a test of your men. They will fail, but at least it will not be fatal."

All Fierhock could do was watch and pray to the Light that his men would surprise him.

Below the two captains, the training battle unfolded. Priests stood on the outskirts of the field to place a holy shield around any combatant who appeared too injured to continue fighting, using holy magic to pull the soldier from the fray and being healing him or her to prevent fatalities.

So far, it appeared that Scalburn and Fierhock's assessments were apt; the paladins fared far better, subduing warriors with blasts of holy magic or weapon strikes backed up by holy energy. A few of the stronger warriors were able to defeat a foe or two before they, too, were brought down. Though some warriors were able to augment their abilities with holy energy, most were not up to the challenge and were defeated; a few even lost the resolve to fight and fled, leading to chuckles from Scalburn and groans from Fierhock.

Baelin dodged a paladin's hammer, raising his shield just in time to parry the same weapon that flew towards him. He grunted as the force of the blow threw him to the ground. Baelin rose quickly and stared at the paladin: she was about his height and had long, flowing black hair. He was momentarily stunned as he observed her beautiful face, but shook himself back into reality. _There will be time to romance her after this…if I do not make too much of a fool of myself, _the young warrior thought. _Attractive or not, she's still my opponent._

Baelin roared as he charged towards this pretty paladin, but slowed down as his left arm began to feel lighter. He slowed his charge, and cocked his eye towards his left arm and saw, to his horror, that parts of his shield had cracked off. The paladin took advantage of his pause and kicked Baelin in the chest, sending the warrior tumbling to the ground. She then moved forward and loomed over him, bringing her hammer back over her head before sending it down at crushing speed.

The blow bounced harmlessly off a shield a priest erected, but Baelin was still shocked from the experience. Pouting, the paladin turned away, annoyed that she was unable to fully defeat her enemy. After several seconds, she turned back towards Baelin who was now in the process of crawling away from the battle.

"Next time we fight, weakling, there will not be someone to save your life," the paladin stated coldly.

As a distant priest floated Baelin over the heads of the combatants, the warrior stared longingly at the female paladin who strode off to subdue six more soldiers.

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"I get it, she was attractive," Wesley Harrick, Baelin's close friend and fellow warrior, muttered as he turned over in his bunk. "Now can you be quiet for a bit? I need to finish this book." The soldier turned back towards the wall, eyeing the text of _The Light is My Strength_ written by General Abbendis himself.

"I just am wondering if I will ever see her again, or even if I'd have a chance," Baelin muttered, exhaling as he stared at the ceiling of their small room.

"Well, why not quit daydreaming and go out searching for her? The paladin barracks is not far from her, and I am sure you can find her if you ask around the 8th," Wesley replied.

"I'll do it!" Baelin exclaimed, jumping off his cot and heading out the door.

"Finally," Wesley muttered, closing his eyes and dropping the book on the floor. "I needed a nap."

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Baelin felt invigorated as he rushed down the hallways towards the Paladin Barracks. After an hour of aimless walking, the soldier stumbled upon a banner depicting the Insignia of the Crusade intertwined with a massive glowing hammer: the symbol of the Paladin Battalions.

It was mid-afternoon, and most of the paladins had retired to their rooms to rest and relax before dinner. Here and there and lone soul walked the halls, hurrying to fetch supplies or hasten back to a warm bed.

_How the hell am I supposed to find her when I do not even know her name? _Baelin's mind echoed as he tramped through the barracks, passing rows and rows of bolted doors. _This is truly a fool's errand._

"What are you doing here?" A stern voice barked from behind Baelin. The swordsman cocked his head to the side in an attempt to look over his shoulder, but was forced to turn around fully in order to glimpse the speaker.

_Lucky!_ Baelin thought, as he saw the female paladin from the previous day's training exercises standing before him. "He…hello there," Baelin stuttered. "I was actually looking for you…to congratulate you on your victory over me in that training match." The warrior's voice was shaky, and sweat began to bead on the back of his neck as he spoke.

"I need no compliments from weaklings," the paladin spat back, moving to walk past Baelin. Before she could get far, the swordsman grabbed her arm and tugged her so that she turned back towards him; she scowled and slapped his hand away. "Do not touch me unless you want a quick death."

"I…I just wanted to introduce myself," Baelin replied hastily. "My name is Baelin Briarbrand. What is yours?"

"Aurora Cronos. Now will you leave me be?" The paladin shot back, her tone harsh. Without waiting for a response, Aurora hastened onward.

"Wait…Aurora!" Baelin called, taking a deep breath as he made his gamble. "I would…like to ask you…will you duel me?" _Damn…my fear got the better of me…_

Aurora instantly turned around. "So I suppose you would like to die before you reach middle age. Fine then, I never decline a challenge. Meet me in the southern courtyard at midnight and you will have your duel. We will discuss terms then and there, for now I have business to attend."

"Good, I shall see you then!" Baelin called, masking his apprehension behind outward bliss. _Damn, I had best try and do some last minute training. Being killed by a woman worth dying for is rather ludicrous…_

As Aurora walked away she snorted and began to ponder the events that had just transpired. _Why did I bother to give that whelp my name? Who does he think he is anyway? I had best not kill him as that will bring me even more trouble…but a sound thrashing should get him out of my way._

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"Why do I have to be part of this?" Wesley moaned as he followed Baelin into the Scarlet Monastery's southern courtyard. Midnight was near, and only a sliver of Azeroth's crescents shown in the sky.

"It is customary to bring a Second to a duel to fight if you are greatly injured," Baelin replied. "At least…I think that is how it works."

"Oh great," Wesley's whines resumed, "now she gets a chance to kill us both. I am not half the soldier you are and I am expected to be able to pick up where you fail?"

"Nice of you to arrive," a voice cold as a Gilnean winter greeted the duo. Standing beneath a crumbling marble arch stood Aurora, her legs illuminated in the pale moonlight while the rest of her body was shrouded in abyss. "Who is your accomplice?"

"This is my squire, Wesley Harrick," Baelin stated proudly, drawing his sword and a new shield he had acquired earlier that day.

"Squire? I thought I was your…" Wesley's words were hasty, but he stopped as he saw the seriousness in his friend's eyes. All he could do was back away and take a seat on a low wall to watch the spectacle unfold.

"Let us discuss the rules," Aurora said, moving forward so that her entire form was eerily lit by the moonlight. Baelin admired her beauty momentarily, but quickly refocused on the task at hand.

"Indeed," Baelin answered. _I do not have much experience with this sort of thing, but here goes…_ "Firstly…"

"When I said discuss, I meant that I will state the rules and you can choose to agree or disagree," Aurora shot back. "I am an experienced duelist, so I know these things well. Firstly, this will be a duel to first blood; whoever is injured first loses. You may also choose to surrender at any time, in which case your foe seizes victory. There is no need for either of us to die, and it would surely lead to the winner's eventual execution anyway."

"Agreed," Baelin replied. When Aurora did not continue, Baelin spoke again. "Is that all?"

"We do not need complicated rules for such a small fight," Aurora answered.

"Well then, may I suggest a rule?" Baelin said, attempting to imbue his voice with what strength he could muster.

"Go ahead, though know that I may decline," Aurora replied.

"I suggest that the winner have the right to make one demand of the loser so long as that demand does not lead to death, pain, or suffering," Baelin said.

"Fine with me, what would be your terms of victory?"

"If I win, I would like you to allow me to escort you over the course of a private evening."

"Fine," Aurora answered, "but when I win, I will demand that you never speak to me again, or even look at me if I happen to be nearby."

"I can agree to that," Baelin said. "Now let us begin."

"Finally," was Aurora's quick response as she produced her two-handed hammer. The paladin rushed forward with astounding speed, giving Baelin barely a moment to block her blow with his shield. Aurora saw an opening, removed her right hand from her warhammer, and punched Baelin across the jaw, sending the warrior reeling.

_What a fool, he leaves his defenses wide open, _Aurora thought, swiftly kicking Baelin in the gut. _I could simply strike him with my weapon to bloody him, but I would prefer to deal enough damage so that he remembers the pain of pursuing a woman like me._

Baelin coughed and gasped as he recovered from this series of strikes. He roared, charging at Aurora with his sword pointed forward, only to have his foe sidestep the blow and slam the butt of her weapon into his chest.

Baelin felt blood welling up in his mouth, the iron tang overriding everything, but he fought against the sensation and gulped down the liquid. _This duel is to blood drawn; so long as it remains inside my body I am still in this fight._

Baelin rushed towards Aurora again, this time raising his shield. The paladin smiled, as if predicting his attack. The swordsman grinned as well, flinging his shield directly at Aurora's skull. The paladin swung her hammer, holy energy coursing through the weapon, shattering the shield into a dozen pieces. As she did so, she saw Baelin ducking under the broken metal and delivered a swift kick to his gut, sending her adversary spiraling backwards.

Aurora's joy increased as she saw drops of blood on Baelin's face. _It appears I have won, _she thought, _not that I expected anything less._ Suddenly, a deep pain bit at Aurora's gut, causing her to look down, her eyes widening as she saw a gash in her chest. _Damn him..he…_

"So you figured it out," Baelin smiled, wiping Aurora's blood off his face. "The shield was, quite obviously, a distraction. It gave me the split second I needed to stab you, though I did get a bit messy in the process."

"A dirty trick," Aurora growled, "but crafty, that is worth some small degree of admiration."

"Thanks," Baelin replied. "I will expect to see you tomorrow night near the western gate six hours after noon."

"Fine, I am a woman of my word, I will see you there," Aurora said, grudgingly, turning to return to her room. _He may be weak, but he has potential. He was lucky today…but regardless, there is something special about this man._

"Excellent work!" Wesley cheered, hugging Baelin without even giving his friend time to sheath his sword. "Now let's clean up those shield shards and get ourselves some ale."

"No, we had best go to bed," Baelin panted, the exhaustion from the fight weighing heavily on his body. "We can save the celebration for a few nights from now."

"Well, well, looks like little Briarbrand does not want to risk being hungover for his romantic evening," Wesley joked. "Respectable, commendable even. I am up for some shut-eye myself." The two friends yawned in unison, then began laughing, their joviality extending through their dreams.

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Aurora scowled as she walked towards the table Baelin had set up for the evening together. When she had arrived at the west gate she had expected just a simple walk, not a specially prepared dinner set out on a silken tablecloth. Though she had grudgingly come, the paladin was at least happy that the food looked well prepared.

Baelin, acting the gentleman, pulled out Aurora's chair and allowed her to seat herself before pouring her a glass of wine from a bottle he had bought off Wesley earlier that day. _It cost me my savings from the last three months, but perhaps this night will be worth it, _Baelin thought as he finished filling Aurora's glass, poured wine for himself, and took a seat.

The first few minutes of the meal were silent: Baelin was too nervous to say anything, and Aurora, who did not want to be there in the first place, had nothing to say. The two had dressed for the occasion: Baelin wore a set of fine crimson gentleman's clothes, borrowed from Wesley, while Aurora wore a black dress that shimmered gold when light caught it correctly.

"Enjoying the food?" Baelin managed to croon as Aurora took another bite of the roast duck he had prepared.

"It's good," Aurora said bluntly.

"Yes, I cooked it myself."

"Fascinating."

_I need to keep the conversation going, or she might as well have won,_ Baelin pondered. "That's a beautiful dress."

"Thank you, it was my mother's. Her name was Maelin Cronos, perhaps you have heard of her?"

Baelin never had, but he demurred in hopes of winning favor. "Oh of course, she was a great paladin wasn't she?"

"Indeed," Aurora stated, suppressing a small smile that appeared. Baelin mentally gasped, happy that his random guess had turned out to be correct. "Your…suit is also quite becoming."

"Thanks," Baelin replied, grinning. "It seems you are almost finished. Come, let us take a walk in the gardens."

"As you wish," Aurora growled, patting her lips with a napkin before rising to follow Baelin. He extended his hand to take her arm, but she turned away. "I said I would come, not that you would be allowed to touch me."

"Suit yourself," Baelin sighed, as they moved towards the western gardens of the Scarlet Monastery. As they left, Wesley emerged from the shadows, grumbling as he cleared off the table.

"You owe me for all this, Baelin," Wesley growled, "even more than those coins…"

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The Scarlet Monastery's gardens had existed since before the Third War, but had become less and less beautiful with each passing year. This depressing fact was the result of both the corruption of Tirisfal's soil as well as the lack of time to tend to gardening; even those with simple tasks were converted to troops, for each human was precious in this dying land. Despite this fact the gardens were still more beautiful than the rest of the dying land: red and white roses bloomed, as did the occasional tulip and lily. Patches of moss and lichen had overtaken most of the pots and hedgerows, but the native flora still fought valiantly to exert itself, almost mimicking the Scarlet Crusade.

"Beautiful, is it not?" Baelin said, spreading his arms wide to indicate the few flowers and trees that comprised the garden.

"I suppose," Aurora said. "You seem to have but one word to describe everything: beautiful."

"I only compliment what I favor," Baelin answered, "do you have a problem with that?"

"No…" Aurora's voice was somewhat weaker. An internal struggle ripped her mind: on one hand this man was a weakling and a fool, but on the other he had potential, determination, and an odd air about him. He was younger than her, but this gave him a sort of innocence Aurora felt was lost among most other crusaders.

"Baelin…" Aurora paused as she spoke his name, admiring his suddenly handsome features. She walked over to the warrior and clasped his hand.

"What are you doing?" The puzzled swordsman asked as he felt her flesh touch his.

"You wanted to hold my hand earlier, so I am allowing you that pleasure," Aurora stated. "Count yourself lucky, I let few men touch me."

There was a long pause as Baelin laced his fingers in Aurora's, feeling an energy emanating from her: was this the Power of the Light, or something else entirely? The two felt strange as they gazed at one another for what seemed like an eternity. Aurora's features softened, at first slightly, and then faster, until her features were evermore beautiful by an expression of calm.

It happened in an instant. Neither was sure who moved first, or if both moved together, but their lips came into contact. They closed their eyes, feeling energy rush from between their bodies, Nozdormu himself seeming to stop the hands of time to preserve this precious moment.

Eventually, they parted, and stared at one another for a moment more. Then, Aurora spoke.

"I have my own room. As a corporal and a descendant of such a famous family I was given that right. Would you like to spend the night?"

Baelin's answer was an obvious one.

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"You need to focus on drawing out the energy as well as maintaining it," Aurora stated as she watched golden holy power swirl around Baelin's blade before he charged at her. The paladin sidestepped the maneuver and brought her hammer around towards the back of Baelin's head, stopping it within an inch of his skull.

"I guess I lose again," Baelin chuckled, sheathing his weapon. "We had best get going, lunch will be served soon." Aurora smiled as well, strapping her hammer across her back and following Baelin back into the Scarlet Monastery.

It had been three months since that fateful night, and ever since Baelin and Aurora had been nearly inseparable. The paladin had offered to train her lover to improve his fighting ability, and each day it seemed he became more and more skilled. Luckily for them both the front had been quiet, and so neither one of them had to serve field duty greater than routine purgings of undead that wandered too close to the monastery.

Aurora's cold shell had melted away over these weeks with Baelin; she had found a new joy, a new peace. As Aurora taught Baelin the ways of battle he taught her the ways of happiness.

"I really think you should stop using a shield and switch to two-handed swords," Aurora stated as they continued on. "You do not commit much to defense; your shield is basically excess weight."

"Hm…perhaps we should visit the armory after we eat?"

"Sounds fun, maybe I will even sign you up for a duel with Herod," laughter echoed between the two as they smiled, clasping hands as they passed by onlookers, ignoring the amazed, confused, or jealous expressions that were fired at them.

A trumpet blaring stopped the two in their tracks, and they instinctively fell to their knees. A figure flanked by four heavily armor crusaders walked towards them, the bare, pale white legs acting as a stark contrast to the black and red of her uniform.

"Who is that?" Baelin whispered.

"Inquisitor Sally Whitemane, head of the Scarlet Cathedral and overseer of the entire Monastery," Aurora whispered back. "She rarely leaves the inner chambers Cathedral, so it is no surprise you have never seen her. The captain of my unit is a friend of hers, so she visited us once when were we training."

"You may rise," Whitemane's voice caught the couple off guard, and they were surprised to see her standing directly before them. The two looked at each other incredulously, but complied with their superior's request.

"It is an honor to see you, Inquisitor," Aurora said, making a small bow. She nudged Baelin slightly and he followed suit. "What brings you here?"

"You, actually," Whitemane replied. "Your captain speaks well of you, Aurora Cronos, and so I have decided to personally deliver a message: you have been promoted to the rank of sergeant."

"Thank you for this honor, Inquisitor," Aurora said, barely able to comprehend what had just been said.

Whitemane turned to leave with her escort, but turned back slowly towards the duo. "What is your name, soldier?" She addressed Baelin.

"Baelin Briarbrand, Inquisitor. I am a member of the 4th Warrior Battalion serving in the Cathedral."

"Ah, good, have a promotion," Whitemane said nonchalantly. "You are a corporal now. As a friend of Cronos, you are obviously worth quite a bit."

Baelin stammered, speechless and confused. Aurora nudged him again, and he chortled a quick thanks as the Inquisitor walked off.

"Congratulations!" Baelin cried, hugging Aurora. "You have deserved this promotion for quite some time!"

"Thanks, you deserved yours too," Aurora answered, smiling.

"It was odd though, that she would do that for someone she just met."

"She is a tad eccentric, or so I hear," whispered Aurora, "but she is very wise. My uncle on my mother's side fought alongside her in the previous war, so there are some ties between our families. Either way you deserve it; you are no longer the weakling I met several months hence."

"If I recall I won our duel," Baelin answered playfully.

"I let you win," Aurora replied, smiling. "We will duel again someday once I deem you worthy, and then I will not be so kind."

Laughter once again rang through the halls of Scarlet Monastery as the two newly promoted soldiers moved forward.

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"I am sorry," Aurora whispered, planting a kiss on Baelin's cheek as she left the room. The sleeping corporal moaned briefly in his sleep and rolled over, oblivious to his partner's departure. Aurora sighed as she left the room, making sure to close the door quietly.

This process was nothing new for Baelin; since her promotion, Aurora had been tasked with overseeing early morning training exercises. While the paladin was forced to rise an hour after sunrise, the warrior was able to sleep for another few hours before he, too, had to attend a training session.

As Aurora shut the door, she bumped into a person standing in front of her. Immediately realizing who this was, the paladin dropped to her knees.

"Good morning, Inquisitor Whitemane," Aurora stated. "What brings you here?"

"You do," the Inquisitor replied simply. "Aurora, it has come to my attention that you are far more skilled than you are given credit. In fact, I have a matter of…delicacy…that I would like you to attend to."

"What specifically?"

Whitemane cleared her throat and continued. "The blasted Forsaken have established a fairly sizable garrison six miles south of the Monastery. I fear they are planning an assault. What I need you to do is lead a small force to assassinate their acting commander; scouts have reported that he is a dark wizard who spends much of his time at the top of the watchtower they have erected. I would send a small army to deal with this encampment, but as it stands now we need to commit more of our forces to defense in the off-chance we are attacked."

"I will do as you order," Aurora replied. "Who comprises this team and when do I leave?"

"You will be allocated a dozen of the finest scouts we have. As this is an assassination mission their stealth and tracking will come in handy, while your martial skills should lead to the end of the mage. I have already had you excused from this morning's exercises; I would like you to leave immediately."

Aurora paused. "May I request to bring along another soldier of my own?"

Whitemane chuckled and raised her eyebrows. "Would this be the handsome Briarbrand?"

Aurora blushed slightly and nodded.

"Fine with me," Whitemane replied, turning away. "Wake him up and meet near the southern gardens as soon as possible."

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The small group of Scarlet Crusaders was silent as they approached the Forsaken base several miles from the Scarlet Monastery. This encampment had been formed from a former sentry post of the Lordaeron Military, the base made up of a watchtower and several small barracks. Tattered banners bearing the crest of the Menethil line hung limply beside symbols of the vile undead, the crude sigils of the Dark Lady exclaiming the land's new rulers.

"Disgusting," one of the scouts, a soldier by the name of Eli, grumbled as they surveyed the position. "I estimate about eight score sentries on duty, with perhaps another three dozen inside the tower. The bulk of their forces are probably in the barracks, so we probably will not have to worry about them."

"Good," Aurora stated. "The plan will be for Maxwell, Artur, and Rhea to light a few fires around the base of the tower and distract the sentries. While you three lead them on a fruitless chase through the woods, the rest of us will sneak inside and kill their commander post haste. Understood?"

"Yes m'am," the voices of a dozen scouts and Baelin piped up together.

The three youngest scouts, Maxwell, Artur, and Rhea, were first to rush off. "You know they are all going to die, don't you?" Eli muttered to Aurora. She shot the scout an angry look and shook her head.

"As long as they follow protocol, they will survive. I have timed things perfectly. By the time the undead troops reach them, we will have caused enough mayhem to force the soldiers to return to base," Aurora answered in hushed tones.

The remaining eleven soldiers sat silently for half an hour, waiting as their accomplices moved into position. Then, a flicker, followed by a bright flash indicated that the blaze had started. Without a word, the Scarlet Crusaders made their way through the trees and towards the watchtower. Forsaken ran this way and that, hastily searching for the arsonists while simultaneously attempting to quench the blaze. These soldiers were so absorbed with their tasks that they were easy prey for the scouts' arrows.

Undead soldiers cried out in Gutterspeak in an attempt to raise them alarm, but they were hastily silenced by accurate shots, Baelin's sword, or Aurora's hammer.

_We cannot allow the soldiers in the barracks to awake, _Aurora thought, her hammer crushing the chest of a sentry standing before the watchtower door. _Eventually they will hear the fire and commotion, but the more time we buy the better._

"Hurry up!" Aurora barked to the scouts who were still a hundred yards back firing arrows at the confused Forsaken. Baelin and Eli, the canniest of the group in her eyes, were already within a few feet. Aurora roared with fury as she smashed aside the watchtower door, nodding to the others as they charged into the building.

Though the fire had not been burning long, the watchtower's stones had already begun to heat up, radiating this energy and filling the building with a blistering feeling. The Scarlet Crusaders had no time to consider temperature as they rushed towards the spiral staircase leading to the upper levels of the tower. The wooden stairs echoed and creaked as heavy footfalls ricocheted off of them.

Aurora rushed ahead at the front of the group, her body radiating holy power as she moved up the stairway. Here and there a Forsaken sentry would rush down, swinging clumsily with a short sword or club before he or she was dispatched by Aurora's maul.

Baelin and the others were amazed as they watched Aurora fight, their hearts filled with the vigor to continue rushing behind this dedicated woman. They were ignorant of casualties and enemy reinforcements: already, four of their number had been brought down and the barracks garrison had awoken.

Aurora blocked out all the sounds around her as she made for the watchtower's roof. Smashing aside the trapdoor above her, the paladin burst onto the top of the building. Standing before her was the rotting form of a Forsaken wizard. His body was horribly decayed, even more than the other troops the Scarlet Crusaders had been fighting; he was missing his right arm, and half of the skin of his faced had rotted off to reveal the bare skull beneath.

"Aaaaah…weeeelcooome…" the wizened mage rasped, rising from a crouching position, coughing as he did so. "Yooooou….caaaaused….theee…..disruuuuuption?"

"Yes, and I have come for you head!" Aurora roared, ignoring the ball of dark magic swirling around her foe's hand as she charged forward. Before her strike could connect, the paladin felt first a small twinge, and then a plethora of pain arcing through her body, starting with her chest. She looked down to see a hole through her breastplate, armor dripping with blood. She attempted to curse her enemy, but she felt weak and collapsed to the dry coughing cackles of the mage.

The wizard studied the defeated form of his foe and sighed. "Anooootheeer….hoooow…maaaany…..mooooore….?"

The Forsaken's drawn out speech was interrupted as a new figure burst onto the scene: Baelin, blade in hand. The swordsman took one look at his defeated and dying lover before charging head on towards the wizard. This Forsaken sighed again as he conjured another ball of dark energy but this time his foe was more focused on defense and dodged the blast.

"For Aurora!" Baelin cried as he came within a four feet of his enemy, their bodies close enough that the human could smell the fetid stench of the other's rotting flesh. A split second later, a sword claimed a skull. "Mission complete."

Baelin wasted no time, rushing over to Aurora. The warrior shuddered, dropping his sword and falling to his knees beside his lover. He placed his ear on her chest, hearing a faint heartbeat. Reaching his arms around her wounded form, Baelin lifted Aurora's body onto his shoulders and headed for the trapdoor. As he did so, Eli burst in front of him, almost causing Baelin to drop the unconscious Aurora.

"No…way out…" Eli stuttered, blood dripping from the scout's mouth. "Fire…soldiers…run…" With that, the scout collapsed, a snapped sword blade lodged in his back. Baelin widened his eyes as he saw, rushing up the stairs, a group of Forsaken followed closely by the fire the Scarlet Crusaders had set. Seeing no other option, Baelin turned towards the edge of the watchtower and jumped.

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Baelin awoke in an unfamiliar bed, his head throbbing and his eyes stinging from a blinding light above him. He remembered little after the jump, save a painful march several hundred yards and then…nothing…

"Thank the Light you are awake," the priest standing over Baelin's bed exclaimed, moving his glowing hand back and retracting the healing magic.

"What…happened?" Baelin said, his throat in pain as he spoke.

"You do not remember?" The priest chuckled. "It is quite the heroic tale. You, with smashed ribs, somehow managed to get all the way back to the Monastery with that girl on your shoulders. Truly miraculous."

Baelin shook his head. "I do not remember…it is almost as if my body reacted unconsciously…"

"Stranger things have been known to happen," the priest said, his face seeming to glow in the sunlight extending from between the rafters. "You have become quite the hero. In fact, Inquisitor Whitemane requested your prescience whenever you feel healthy enough."

Baelin flexed his arms and pushed himself out of the bed, standing with some difficult before moving towards the door. "I had best not keep her waiting any longer."

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_Damn scouts,_ Aurora Cronos slammed her fist against the walls of her room as she rose from her bed. Her wounds had been healed several days before, in no small part thanks to her own holy magic when she had regained consciousness. She was not allowed to see Baelin, the heads of the infirmary informing her that he needed special precision healing that would take several days.

In the meantime, Aurora had mused about the mission. Though the main objective had been achieved, all the members of the assault had died save Maxwell, Baelin, and herself. The trio of scouts who had set the fire had apparently gotten far into the woods, but the idiotic Artur and Rhea desired to charge back into the fray, leading to their untimely death.

_Had I been given proper paladins and warriors, this mission would have gone without a hitch,_ Aurora continued to ponder, getting dressed as she prepared for morning training. _Those weak scouts….they could barely even hold off the undead. None of them even had the skill to aid me in my attack on the wizard._

Aurora attempted to ignore these thoughts as she left her room, heading for the training fields. _Surely, when I report this information to Inquisitor Whitemane, not only will I be promoted for my efforts but also I will be assigned to missions with proper troops. _

Then, Aurora saw something that made her eyes widen. Walking side by side in the distance was Inquisitor Whitemane with Baelin beside her. Ignoring her training, Aurora rushed over to the duo, kneeling before them as they approached.

"Inquisitor! I have come to make my full report of the mission!" Aurora stated boldly.

"No need," Whitemane stated, walking past her. "Baelin's word will be sufficient. It seems he was quite the hero that day. Come, Baelin, let us discuss things further in my private chambers." Aurora stood as they walked off, her happiness to see Baelin healed overridden by a deep jealousy.

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Baelin was amazed as he walked passed honor guard and centurions who guarded the Scarlet Monastery's Cathedral. He had never been inside this massive buildings, as only the most elite of the elite were allowed to enter its sacred structure. Baelin was in awe as he noticed the walls lined with stained glass windows depicting heroic champions of the Light from the past: there was Uther the Lightbringer, Tirion Fordring, and, of course, Highlord Alexandros Mograine clutching his namesake blade, the Ashbringer.

Baelin had little time to study the massive altar at the front of the room as Whitemane led him around a corner and through a series of corridors until they came to her private chambers. The Inquisitor produced a massive silver key from a chain around her neck and opened to doors, simply stating, "Enter."

The room was smaller than Baelin expected, but still larger than the average cell given to solitary Scarlet Crusaders in the barracks. The furnishings, however, were of high quality: there was a desk of fine Elven pine, an exquisite painting of an elder priest who Baelin assumed was Whitemane's relative, and finally the Inquisitor's large, comfortable bed.

"Take a seat," Whitemane stated, indicating the desk's chair as she herself removed her hat and cloak, placing them on a hook on the wall before lying across her bed. Baelin did as he was bid, attempting to fight down his natural instincts as he watched his beautiful superior.

_Aurora…think of Aurora. She is waiting for you. She will be excited to hear the explanations later. Remain calm…_ Baelin's mind raced, so much so that Whitemane's words caused him to shift in his seat.

"Word from Maxwell is that you were the true hero of that mission," Whitemane said. "He saw you defeat the dark wizard and jump from the tower from the woods; the boy has good eyes. Regardless, I am amazed at your skill and determination; few others would have been able to return here after such an endeavor."

"Thank you," Baelin replied, "but I simply did what I felt was right. Aurora is my…closest friend and a powerful fighter. I could not let her die," he finished.

Whitemane smiled and closed her eyes as if dreaming. "The greatest heroes are always the ones who think what they do is simply the norm. You truly are a strong, compassionate man and, for that, I am promoting you to Captain of your battalion."

Baelin gasped, unable to reply at first. "But…my lady…I am not qualified, and my battalion already has a captain."

Whitemane chuckled slightly and shook her head. "Ah yes, you were not conscious when it happened. Captain Fierhock is dead; your battalion along with several others were dispatched a day after you left in order to deal with another Forsaken outpost. The good captain fought hard, but he was one of the many casualties. Ironically, a great deal of officers died in that battle, and so I am honest when I say you are most qualified for the job."

Baelin considered his options; he did not see himself as a skilled enough warrior or leader, but on the other hand his unit needed guidance and the Inquisitor had faith in him. If he accepted, he would be the first Scarlet Crusader in history to move through the ranks so quickly. He took a deep breath and spoke, "I accept."

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It had been five months since Baelin's promotion, and in such a short time the Captain had gained a deep respect from his men. Many other officers were surprised at the skill with which this young commander led his forces in missions, keeping casualties to a minimum despite the difficulty of some tasks.

Alas, while Baelin's popularity had risen, he had lost Aurora. What had begun as fewer and fewer conversations soon turned into staying in different rooms, until finally all contact had been broken off. Some whispered that Baelin had become Whitemane's lover, and this fact explained both his distance from Aurora and his recent promotion. Others argued that the paladin was jealous of her lover's new ranking: this belief was accurate.

Aurora's resentment of Baelin had been on a constant rise. She was sure he had told Whitemane that she had been the cause of the mission's casualties and won his promotion through deceit. _The promotion which should have been mine,_ Aurora mused as she finished her evening exercises before heading towards the Cathedral. Today, against her will, Aurora would be forced to be in Baelin's prescience once again.

Inquisitor Whitemane had called a council of officers from all across the monastery, informing them that she had an important message to give them all. Aurora knew that Baelin would be there, the man would surely show off his rank. She growled as she moved passed the rows of soldiers, flashing her sergeant insignia as she entered the massive building.

Aurora squeezed onto the end of a pew, an overweight soldier to her left giving her barely any room to sit. She was about to make a comment towards the corpulent figure, but was silenced as Whitemane's voice boomed across the room.

"Thank you all for coming," the Inquisitor said. "I have called you all here to make a special announcement." Whitemane took a breath before continuing. "It has come to my attention that, day after day, week after week, month after month, we are losing troops. This is a simple fact: most of the surviving humans in Lordaeron have either joined our cause or have fled south, wanting nothing to do with the undead. Meanwhile, most women have been too committed to fighting the undead to raise a family.

"Despite this decline in numbers, we have also witnessed an increase in animosity within our ranks. More squabbles are arising between individual crusaders, between battalions, between entire barracks. These petty arguments and trials of emotion have led to weakness and distrust during missions, leading to greater casualties suffered.

"And so, on this day, I beseech you: you all must work together to strive for a world free of the Undead. Put aside all emotions save love for Lordaeron and hatred of the Undead. Now, we have unity, but that could collapse at any time. Divided, we will be crushed. Even if I die, even if the Undead advance, even if Hell itself opens to swallow us whole we MUST remain United. We are the Scarlet Crusade, we are the only hope of Humanity! This is my will!"

Applause followed the speech's conclusion, leaving many with new thoughts as they exited the building. Here and there rivals shook hands or patted one another's shoulders.

Aurora walked out, her mind racing with thoughts on the speech. _Unity…we must have unity…how can we achieve unity? The strong always stand together: by purging the weak we will have unity._ Out of the corner of her eye she saw Baelin approaching her, his face lit up as if inspired. Aurora turned towards the warrior, shook her head, and moved onward. _No Baelin, you are the kind that would save the worthless weak. Become strong or die: you should understand that better than anyone. _

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Aurora and Baelin blotted out their thoughts of the past as they charged at one another once again, the clash of steel echoing as their weapons collided. Their eyes were set, their bodies reacting with alarming speed as they tore into one another. Now and then a weapon would pass a guard and inflict a small wounded, but these skilled soldiers ignored blood loss as they continued to hack and strike at one another.

Each scanned viciously, desperately searching for an opening in the other's stance. Chips of metal flew as hammer met blade, as maul smashed into sword.

All time seemed to stand still as the coup de grace occurred: Baelin, seeing a weakness near Aurora's left leg, stabbed forward, his enchanted blade biting through her magical aura. The paladin roared in agony and fell to the ground, her eyes looking skyward as she fought against the pain, her hands relaxing to drop her hammer. A river of blood flowed from her thigh as a haze fell over her.

As Aurora fell, Baelin raised his sword above his head. The woman's eyes were somewhat fearful, her hatred and determination melted away as death stared her in the face. Tears came to the edges of her eyes, as if gifts to plead for her life.

Baelin considered as he readied his blade to cleave Aurora's head from her shoulders. _Aurora…we have been through so much. Through hate, love, and return to respect, and then finally an encore of hate. A part of me still loves you, but that is a part I must silence. _

Gasps echoed from the Scarlet Crusaders, their eyes set on this powerful moment.

Then sword pierced flesh. And Baelin fell to the earth, a blade buried in his chest. Holding the end of a weapon from a slain soul, Aurora panted. Baelin's eyes widened as he looked down as the sword, the Inquisitor on his knees. Aurora gasped, her aura starting to become stronger as she forced herself to a standing position. Baelin's hands released their weapon and he clawed pathetically at Aurora's legs.

"You were weak. Your hesitation was your downfall," Aurora muttered, twisting away from Baelin's weak grasp. She bent down and picked up her hammer, leveling it towards Baelin's skull. "Look on, Scarlet Band, look at this pathetic man who thought he was fit to lead you! Whitemane's Will was perverted by this man for his own ends! From the start, I should have been the leader of our organization! Today a new chapter begins, a chapter that will be written in blood and end with the fall of the Undead! It all begins with one stroke!" Aurora roared, pulling her hammer back and imbuing it with holy power.

"No!" The voice of Delilah Corwin echoed as she broke from the crowd and ran forward. "Spare him please, Captain! Take his title but please allow him to live!"

Aurora cocked her head towards the voice as Baelin's dying form slumped to the ground, his eyes rolling back in his head. "This was a duel to the death. I am honoring him by giving him such a satisfactory end. He knew this would be the result when he challenged me. There is no hope for the weak." Aurora turned away from Baelin. "Fine, Corwin, I will not defile the body of a man already doomed to die. For the rest of you, from this day forth, I shall be referred to as Inquisitor!"

Voices erupted from the Scarlet Band, some cheering, some hurling insults and sounds of woe. "Long live Inquisitor Aurora!" projected alongside "Death to Cronos!"

Behind all the chaos, astride the roof of one of Hearthglen's buildings stood Captain Warren and Grand Inquisitor Isillien. The two elder mages turned towards one another and exchanged a smile. Whitemane's Will would find a different successor.

Character Profile: Sally Whitemane

Age: 27

Rank: Inquisitor

Affiliation: Inquisitor of the Scarlet Crusade, Head of the Scarlet Monastery, Head of the Scarlet Monastery's Cathedral

Abilities: Whitemane is an exceptionally skilled priest, rumored to be the best in the entire Scarlet Crusade. Stories say she is able to heal the most grievous wounds in no time at all and even possesses the energy required to resurrect powerful soldiers. Her martial abilities are fairly poor, though if desperate she can fight using a staff.

Appearance: Sally Whitemane is an attractive woman with white hair that falls to her shoulders. She has pale skin and piercing red eyes and lips. She wears a thin, dark red tunic with golden geometric designs that covers her torso, as well as leggings and armlets of a similar color. She also wears a hat of a similar velvety material that she had become famous for.

HES: Hey all! Well, this was a very important chapter for the overall story to say the least since it provides a window into the past of both Aurora and Baelin, as well as the revelation of Whitemane's Will and the resolution of the aforementioned characters' duel. What will be the implications of Aurora's victory? As always, thanks for the reviews, they have been greatly appreciated! From now until next summer my update schedule will probably be less regular, but I will do my best to update as much as possible. I hope you are all enjoying my story and I eagerly await your reviews! Until next time!


	9. Regret

Chapter 9: Regret

Delilah's tears refused to cease as she and other members of the Scarlet Band rushed towards the body of the fallen Inquisitor. It seemed unreal, impossible that a man of Baelin's stature could die, and even moreso that he would be slain by one of their order.

Bodies trembled, voices called out shrill laments, and tears soaked Baelin's body. His limp form refused to yield any of his mannerisms, refused to dole out any of his kindness or determination. It appeared he had taken his entire persona, his complete inspirational presence, to the grave.

Baelin's body was barely cold before Aurora assumed her new title as Inquisitor of the Scarlet Band. Hundreds of members had flocked to her side and eagerly pledged to aid her: those that agreed with her ideals, those that sought strength, those devoted to eradicating the undead, and those who merely feared what would become of them should they turn against her. Aurora seemed nonplussed by this turn of events, as if she had expected such a massive turnout of support upon her victory.

Yet, neither all the members of the Scarlet Band nor all the Scarlet Crusaders stationed in Hearthglen supported Aurora. Mere minutes after her victory, Captain Warren and Grand Inquisitor Isillien set about rallying a coalition against Aurora. Isillien approached Aurora personally and asked her to meet with him within Hearthglen's central fortress, a request which she opposed, she obliged, if only to exert her newfound power.

Aurora and Isillien went alone to the aging stone fortification; it had been built sometime shortly before the Second War, and now after several decades looked the worse for wear: mortar had chipped in many places, stones had come loose, and the once proud banners of the Scarlet Crusade which flapped from its battlements now lay in tatters. Isillien ordered the rusting portcullis to be opened, and he and Aurora made haste inside to the highest room of the central tower where their meeting was to be held.

Aurora smirked as she entered the building, following behind Isillien up the crumbling stone stairs. "This building is as decrepit and crumbling as you," Aurora jeered.

Isillien seemed unaffected by this insult and merely continued forward until they came to a heavy oaken door. The Grand Inquisitor produced a key from a chain around his neck, unlocked the door, and waved Aurora into the windowless chamber.

The room was bare and contained a rough cedar table and four chairs of the same material; all of them showed evidence of termites, and Aurora looked quizzically as she sat, fearing her armor might cause the ancient wood to buckle. As she sat, however, the new Inquisitor noticed a tapestry on the wall directly across from her: it was faded, but she could still discern the image of a knight wielding a hammer charging through a line of Orcs. There was a caption at its base, but the only word still legible was "Light." Aurora smirked; the only image of culture in a room so dark. The tapestry was obscured, however, as Isillien took a seat directly across from the Inquisitor.

A period of silence passed between the two as they studied one another's faces. Aurora displayed an expression of superiority and strength, as if this meeting was merely an annoyance before she returned to a life of privilege. Isillien's face showed calm and calculation in equal measure, a plan forming in his brain.

Isillien was first to break the silence, clearing his throat and placing both hands on the table. "Baelin is dead."

"I'm aware," Aurora's reply was biting and sarcastic. "You did not call me here merely to remind me of my victory."

"No, but I would like to address its aftermath," Isillien answered. "The title of Inquisitor was wagered on the outcome of that duel and, as you were victorious, you now have Baelin's former title and command of the ragtag Scarlet Band."

"Ragtag?" Aurora chuckled. "Perhaps the lowly scouts and some of the weaker members, but a great deal of us are from the Scarlet Monastery's elite. In fact, I'll wager that my troops could slaughter yours without much effort, numbers aside."

"Well, let's try to avoid more bloodletting within our own organization shall we? I know it _is _one of your favorite pastimes, but you'd do well to learn some restraint." Each of Isillien words was calculated, each syllable carefully chosen. His tone was neutral, betraying no emotion, his face expressionless as a calm sea.

Aurora gritted her teeth, but held back her impulse to draw her hammer and smash Isillien's skull; she could tell he was baiting her, trying to force her to make the first move. He had the reputation as a peerless mage, and it was conceivable that he had already woven a spell to slay her should she attack. "Indeed."

"Glad you see things my way. Moving on," Isillien cracked his knuckles as he continued, "there is the matter of this new title and your devotees. Alas, I must say, the Scarlet Crusade does not have protocol for gaining rank through slaughter of another of said rank. Thus, your title of Inquisitor is invalid and I, as the senior commander in this vicinity, shall seize command of your troops."

"Baelin himself made the wager," Aurora shot back, her wrath peeking out.

"True, but that does not make it valid if it is not within our laws," Isillien answered, motioning for her to remain calm. "Do not worry, your rank as Captain shall stand, if of course you are not sentenced to death after the trial."

"Trial?" Aurora began to fume, unable to keep her anger in check. _This is foolish, he wants you to explode, remain calm!_

"Yes, you will be tried for the murder of Inquisitor Baelin. Additionally, I have decided to promote Captain Warren to become the new Inquisitor of the Scarlet Band and give him command over said organization in one week's time."

"Bastard!" Aurora rose. "You two had this planned from the start! Wait for one of us to kill the other and then take control of the Scarlet Band as you see fit! You will most likely have them sit and defend this doomed outpost, rather than continue to Tyr's Hand as Whitemane commanded!"

Isillien laughed and spread his hands wide. "You've seen through it all. It must be at least partly tied to that Soul Scrying ability you're famed for. Alas, I must say that the trial, and your death sentence are inevitable. Unless, of course, you'd prefer to become my obedient servant; it'd be a shame to waste such a talented and beautiful officer."

"Never, you sick bastard," Aurora roared, drawing _Uther's Arm_ and leaping over the table. "This will end before it begins!"

"Oh, that won't do," Isillien said casually, summoning an arcane shield with his right palm to halt the blow. The hammer bounced harmlessly off the golden disk, but Aurora did not let up. A flurry of blows flew towards Isillien, but he continued to block each one in a similar manner. "Come now, Aurora, is this really necessary?"

_Damn it all, _Aurora's mind raced as she imbued her hammer with Light energy and fired close-range bursts of Holy power towards Isillien. _He blocks every attack and does not even retaliate! Can the difference in our power truly be this great? Impossible, I am strong! Only the weak falter! He must have some plan, some reason he is toying with me…unless perhaps he cannot strike? That must be it; my attacks are powerful enough that he must devote everything to defense! Then…why does he appear so calm?_

Aurora summoned up her reserves of Holy energy, creating a massive aura that encircled her body. The light that she conjured illuminated the room, its brightness temporarily blinding Isillien who staggered back several steps and fired an inaccurate blast of fire magic that grazed the table and set it ablaze.

Aurora smiled as she approached Isillien, his eyes covered his left hand while his right fired clumsy blasts of energy that missed Aurora entirely or were deflected by her aura. "It appears you are not as powerful as it initially seemed; this is not even the full power of the Light I can call upon. You should be ashamed that you are easier to kill than Baelin."

Isillien continued to fire blasts of magic as Aurora stepped closer and closer, raising her hammer above her head. As the maul swung downwards, the elder mage cracked a smile, uncovered his eyes, and fired a blast of arcane energy into Aurora's chest. The new Inquisitor stumbled backwards and fell onto her back as pain radiated through her body.

"How easily tricked," Isillien chuckled. "You really do have much to learn, Aurora. I thought your parents taught you better, and I assumed your Soul Scrying would have detected my ruse. Alas, I suppose your overconfidence is the cause of your failure. Now," Isillien pulled himself to his full height and approached the weak form of Aurora, arcane energy spiraling around his fingertips and a sadistic gleam in his eyes, "to finish the job."

* * *

Delilah, Illana, Adrian, and dozens of others who had admired Baelin gathered together to bury his body. They had spent several hours digging a sufficiently deep hole using blunted blades as improvised shovels, and had erected a makeshift marker out of discarded armor and tabards. Baelin himself was buried with his sword and all his armor in order to send him to the next world with his possessions. Though the threat of the Undead loomed, not one of the mourners suggested Baelin's body be burned; all wanted his body to return to the earth naturally and have a dignified death.

Oceans of tears flowed from the mourners as each remember how Baelin had touched his or her life; some had known him for years and fought alongside him when he first joined the Scarlet Crusade, while other had only seen him from afar in the Scarlet Band but had admired his courage and fortitude. Others, like Delilah, had loved him.

One by one, Baelin's mourners turned away from his grave, their pain too great. They drifted away, unsure of their future: would they follow Aurora? If not, what would become of them? What of their mission?

Delilah alone stayed and stared at the grave. She inched slowly closer, before falling to her knees and renewing her flow of tears. She tilted her head towards the unforgiving earth of former Lordaeron; just why had it swallowed another innocent soul?

Delilah slammed her fist into the ground again and again, as if her rage and melancholy could revive Baelin. Alas, she knew, her efforts were in vain: only paladins and priests with massive amounts of skill could resurrect the dead, and even then the process was not guaranteed to be successful. She had heard of many paladins attempting to work together to revive Uther the Lightbringer shortly after his passing, but even their efforts went to waste. She had no choice but to accept that Baelin was dead.

Delilah lay down on the cold soil over Baelin's grave, her eyes fluttering shut. She entered a period of sleep where she dreamed only of the lost Inquisitor.

* * *

Aurora struggled against her magical bonds as Isillien moved ever closer, the mage cackling sadistically as he moved closer to her prostrate form.

"Now, now, don't fight, it's futile," Isillien chuckled as he moved closer and scanned Aurora. "It'd be a pity just to kill such a beautiful woman, so I suppose I will put you to good use before I slaughter you."

"You fucking bastard!" Aurora spat. "How _dare_ you! Touch me and I swear the moment I find a way to break these bindings I will show you a new level of pain."

"Tsk tsk," Isillien wagged his left index finger, "you need to realize that these magical bonds are strong enough to hold back a lesser dragon; there is no way you will be able to breach them. And so," Isillien knelt down beside her and began undoing the buckles of Aurora's breastplate, "I have all the time in the world."

_Damn it all, this cannot be happening! _Aurora's mind raced as Isillien continued to remove her outer armor. _I am not so weak that I would lose to someone like him and allow him to take advantage of me! No! There must be some way to kill him!_

Isillien continued his malicious laughter as he removed the final piece of Aurora's armor, leaving only her tunic. Aurora closed her eyes and continued to attempt to struggle against the bonds, but it proved useless.

Suddenly, an explosion rocked the room, causing the stones of the northern wall to crumble, leaving a gap in the masonry. The explosion came from behind Aurora so she could not see what was happening, but Isillien turned to look at the source of the noise and the damage. Not a second later, the Grand Inquisitor crumbled and fell backwards, an arrow lodged in his cranium. Aurora's bonds dissipated and she rose to look at the corpse of her assailant.

Aurora wasted no time refastening her armor and turning to look out the opening in the wall. She squinted into the distance, noticing a lone figure perched atop one of the city's outer towers a few hundred yards away. Aurora immediately made her way out of the tower to meet with her savior.

* * *

"Elric?" Aurora was stunned as she stood before her apparent savior, the famed marksman-captain.

"Yes, I merely did my duty," Elric replied, adjusting his spectacles slightly. "As soon as Isillien left with you I knew something was not right, and at a particular moment I felt you were in danger. I assumed he would take you to the only room with no windows, so I fired an arrow with attached dynamite to make myself an opening before killing him."

"That's all well and good, but why did you save me?" Aurora sounded more stunned than angry. _Perhaps these scouts do have uses after all…_

"Because you are the Inquisitor."

"But you were so loyal to Baelin, followed his every command…"

"Yes, and now again I follow his word. He wagered his rank on your duel and, as you were victorious, serving you means carrying out my duty."

_Good, another strong soldier I can trust,_ Aurora thought. _Clearly, however, I must train and fight harder; to think I need to be saved by a scout…_

"Another thing," Aurora continued, "how did you know when exactly to fire?"

"Intuition."

Aurora smiled. _Indeed, he does seem useful after all. _"Congratulations, Captain Elric, or should I say Senior-Captain. Come, let us rally the troops; I wish to move out by nightfall."

* * *

Warren shed only a small tear as he knelt over Isillien's corpse. The Grand Inquisitor was dead; everything was going exactly according to plan.

Warren moved his hand beneath the folds of Isillien's tunic and removed the chain from the elder mage's neck. Shimmering on the silver strand was the Scarlet Crusade's insignia, crafted by Jerald Herstruk, one of the finest silversmiths and also a former member of the Crusade.

The mage chuckled as he slipped the insignia around his neck and walked out of the tower room. Isillien's sacrifice had not been in vain; the Grand Inquisitor knew his death was necessary for their plan to continue, though Warren was surprised that it had come so soon. Warren's glee grew as he left the tower, a group of Hearthglen honor guard, their polearms clacking on the cobblestones as they advanced, following him closely.

A martyr had died.

A king had been born.

* * *

"So what do we do then?"

The meeting hall echoed with din as various members of the Scarlet Band argued with one another. While a great number had sworn loyalty to Aurora, still others were wary of her and unsure how to proceed. Captain Sonja, a neutral party, had called the meeting in an attempt to calm the dissenters, but so far her success was minimal.

"Quiet down, quiet down!" Sonja slammed her mace like a gavel on the wooden podium before her. The rotting pine cracked under the force of her blows, and momentarily everyone turned to look at her before resuming their squabbles.

Within the crowd, Adrian and Illana sat side by side, discussing what to do; the two had seen Delilah fall asleep atop Baelin's grave, and felt they should not disturb her.

"What are your thoughts on all this?" Adrian whispered to Illana.

"I am unsure…" the half-elf stammered back. "Baelin was my sole protector among the upper echelons of the Scarlet Band; with Aurora as a leader, I am unsure what fate will befall me." Illana had already revealed her secret to several close friends, but still the majority of the soldiers had no idea she was not human.

"True enough and Aurora hates my kind as well," Adrian answered. "We scouts are little more than Scourge-fodder in her eyes."

"But what other choice do we have?" Illana said. "Captain Sonja called this meeting, but no one has really formed a valid proposal. And did you hear that explosion earlier today, coming from the eastern section of the city? Rumor has it that Aurora killed Isillien during their parlay."

"Tis no rumor!" A voice whispered to the duo, and they turned to see Captain Warren standing several feet behind them. The ruckus in the room immediately died down and all eyes turned towards the new entrant, their eyes fixed on the silver chain dangling from his neck.

"Warren? What is that?" Sonja was the first to break the silence, slowly approaching the wizard who stood on the opposite side of the room.

"What does it look like?" Warren sneered, his face a mix of disgust and entitlement. He reached down and clutched the insignia between his right index finger and thumb. "It is one of the Grand Insignias." Dozens in the room gasped while others looked perplexed.

"That…that is impossible!" Sonja stammered, coming within four feet of Warren to inspect the object more closely. "Only members of the Scarlet Crusade with Grand rank can wear such an object! Not even Whitemane possessed such an artifact!"

"You presume I do not have such a rank," Warren sighed and shook his head. "No my dear, it is not impossible nor is it a mistake. I have now taken Isillien's rank as Grand Inquisitor."

"He is dead then?" Someone called out from the crowd.

"You murderer!" Cried another.

Warren raised his hands for silence. "Settle down. No, it was Aurora who killed him. Though I did not see it with my own eyes there is no other possibility. All I know is the two entered the room alone and, when Aurora left an hour or so later I went in to check on Isillien. The two of us have been friends for decades, so I wished to know what had transpired. Alas, I found him murdered. He expected such foul play, and told me to take up his rank should he every die in the line of duty. He was, from the beginning, wholly devoted to our cause.

"Alas, not everyone in the Scarlet Crusade is as noble as Isillien was. Inquisitor Aurora, if you even can accept her ill-begotten title, has slain two high-ranking members of the Scarlet Crusade. We cannot merely allow her to escape unscathed from these crimes; as I am now in command of the Hearthglen garrison, I ask that all members of the Scarlet Band join me to eradicate Aurora and villainous faction she has surrounded herself with. Otherwise, they will surely butcher us all as we sleep, for such is their dastardly way. Then, we will move out to Tyr's Hand as per Whitemane's initial plan. Who is with me?"

An eerie silence settled across the room, and one by one various Scarlet Crusaders rose to stand beside Warren's side. Others, such as Captain Sonja, shook their heads and walked out of the meeting hall.

"You are making a grave error, Sonja!" Warren called after her as she, among troops such as Adrian and Illana, left the building. "By standing with Aurora you have condemned yourself to death!"

"I will not stand with Aurora!" She called back. "Nor will I stand with you! There has been too much needless bloodletting within our organization already. It would be best if we all joined together for our mutual goal: eradicating the undead. I will fight neither you nor Aurora, though should you both choose to fight alongside me against the undead, be my guest."

"You may regret this choice when Aurora comes after you later!" Warren called after her, but Sonja made no reply. _She does make a good point, however, _Warren thought, his mind scheming as always. _Aurora is a dangerous beast that perhaps is best turned against our foes; she will almost certainly die eventually, so long as I point her in the right direction._

Warren turned back towards his new troops as soldiers from Hearthglen's barracks filtered into the meeting hall. "I have just concocted an excellent idea, my fellows. Stay your weapons for now; we shall go to meet with Aurora's Faction."

* * *

_The entire world was covered with corpses._

_ It was night, the world was pitch black, and Delilah was alone. All around her lay the bodies of fallen comrades: Illana, Adrian, and countless others she had fought alongside in her brief service to the Scarlet Crusade. Their faces were twisted in masks of pain though she was unable to look away from these gruesome visages._

_ Then, one by one, the corpses rose, their undead forms shambling towards Delilah with killing intent in their eyes. Delilah scampered away, tripping over the mass of bodies that arrayed themselves before her. Arms clawed at her legs but she managed to break free, rushing further and further into the blackness before her._

_ Ages passed, and Delilah's fatigue grew. Each second she could hear the moans of her former colleagues behind her, and each moment the noise got louder as the monsters came closer. She felt she was doomed._

_ Then she saw Baelin._

_ Baelin stood alone, erect, sword clutched in hands. He seemed more like a statue than a man. Delilah cried for him to help her, to protect her, to save her. He stayed motionless, his eyes set directly forward peering deeper and deeper into the expanding void around them. _

_ Delilah wrapped her arms around Baelin and clutched tightly, hoping he would awaken and protect her, but his figure remained stolid. The undead drew ever closer._

_ Delilah continued to plead for her life and began to shake Baelin, hoping against hope that he would animate and slay her pursuers. But her efforts were of no use._

_ Moments later the undead reached them and pounced on Delilah, ripping her apart slowly but surely. She continued to scream for Baelin, but he gave no response._

_ Then, as the pain became unbearable, Baelin turned and uttered one phrase: "Do not rely on me. Rely only on your own power."_

_ And then the pain intensified._

* * *

"Corwin, wake up already!" Another swift kick connected with Delilah's gut, finally rousing the girl from sleep. Delilah looked up to see herself surrounded by a series of soldiers from the Scarlet Band, among them Inquisitor Aurora and Captain Elric. Delilah was unsure just who her assailant was, but she assumed it was the kind of assignment Aurora would take personally. Delilah hastily rose to her feet and bowed briefly to Aurora.

"Hail Inquisitor! To what do I owe the honor?" Delilah tried to her best to remain calm and act obedient, fearing that her hatred for Aurora would erupt outward and lead to her own demise.

"Delilah Corwin, you respected Baelin, yes?" Aurora questioned, stepping within a foot of Delilah and placing her face an inch away from the girl's.

"Yes."

"Do you hate me then? Answer truthfully."

Delilah gulped, unsure of what to do. She looked at her boots and nodded, knowing that attempting to hide anything from Aurora was futile.

"Good," Aurora smiled. "I need that hatred."

Delilah raised her head and gave her superior a puzzled expression before Aurora continued. "I want you to join my faction. Since you've been napping all this time, you have probably missed the news that the 'good' Isillien is no longer with us. Seemingly, his lapdog Warren has started gathering recruits. It seems the Scarlet Band has split into three factions: my faction, Warren's faction, and a group that is loosely following Captain Sonja.

"I have, however, seen your progress, and though you have displayed weakness in the past, I sense a hidden strength and a deep devotion our cause within you," Aurora continued, pacing in a circle around Delilah as she spoke. "I know you are overcome with hatred: both the undead and I disgust you. I want you to redirect your hatred to our foes as we fight, to think of me each time you strike at the forces of the Lich King. Do that for me and after this is all over I will fight you personally; by then you should have grown enough to make me take more than ten seconds to kill you."

"And why should I follow you?" Delilah cast away her composure and fired the question at Aurora.

"Because you simply have no other options," Aurora chuckled. "I have already gathered the support of the strongest members of the Scarlet Band; neither Warren's incompetent followers nor the pitiful number of Sonja's adherents will have a chance against us; I fear it may become necessary to excise these weaklings from our midst. If you choose to side against us, I can assure you that your death will be swift."

Delilah gritted her teeth. "You have a point. In that case, Inquisitor, I will follow you."

"Excellent. Come, I see Warren's forces on the horizon. Perhaps the conflict will come sooner than expected."

* * *

Aurora's new Scarlet Band and Warren's Faction stared at each other as they marched through the streets of Hearthglen towards one another. The tension was high, but no conflict broke out; Warren had immediately approached the center of the field, a yellow flag of parlay flapping in his hands. Aurora, though ruthless, had respected the rules of war and walked out to meet him. This was not like the conference with Isillien; hundreds of soldiers were arrayed on both sides, ready to attack at the first hint of dissent. Before walking to face Warren, Aurora had ordered Elric to train his sights on Warren and fire if she gave a specific signal. The scout Captain had followed her orders, and stood in the center of the formation to hide the crossbow he had trained on the new Grand Inquisitor.

"Hello, _Inquisitor_ Aurora," Warren greeted the woman, accentuating her title.

"Greetings, Warren," Aurora replied, intentionally leaving out both his previous and his new self-proclaimed title. Though he showed no hint of annoyance, Aurora could sense Warren fighting to keep his anger in check. "Why are we speaking? This matter is best resolved with blades."

"Oh Aurora, always so hasty to jump to the bloodshed, I suppose that is why you killed both your former lover and the greatest mage in all the Scarlet Crusade," Warren answered.

"Isillien was not so great if he could die so easily; I rather like to think he was a fool," Aurora stated.

"You speak as if you personally killed him, though I know it was Elric who saved you," Warren whispered. "You were smart to remove the arrow, but the size of the wound made it obvious that he was not slain by one of your weapons. Do not worry, I doubt your soldiers would lose any faith in you if they knew your victory was based on luck."

"All that matters is he is dead," Aurora answered. "I will have you know that piece of shit tried to take advantage of me before killing me. A shining example of chivalry."

"In our organization, results are what matter, you should know that more than anyone," Warren said. "Though I will not comment on his character, Isillien was key in torture and information extraction. And, without him, Hearthglen would have fallen numerous times."

"Enough history lessons, what is your purpose here?"

Warren nodded and continued. "Yes, I had best not waste time. Now, before I go on, could I request that Elric step to the front of your formation? I do not feel safe if I cannot see his hands. I know what that man is capable of, and I would hate to share my old friend's fate."

_Damn, was that an educated guess? Or could he somehow sense the plan? _Aurora kept her face steady to hide her discontent as she waved for Elric to move up and put away his crossbow.

"Good, now we can talk peacefully," Warren stated. "Now, Aurora, it is obvious that the Scarlet Band has taken heavy losses in the past few weeks. Though many of our members have grown stronger, we cannot hope to survive a march through the Eastern Plaguelands with divided forces. Worse still, if our respective troops fight, we will further weaken the victor and make the goal of reinforcing Tyr's Hand and continuing the crusade against the undead impossible. Thus, I suggest that, for now, we combine our forces; you may command your half and I shall command mine."

"Seems fair," Aurora replied, still wary. _At least he is not suggesting that he command me. Still, I sense he is hiding something from me, and he obviously has schemes of his own. _"Fine then, we will leave on the morrow. But what of Hearthglen?"

"I shall leave behind most of the garrison, but take four hundred new troops to reinforce my own."

"Do you honestly think this decimated city can stand up to the undead, especially with their leader gone and their numbers weaker?"

"Of course not," Warren said, keeping his voice low despite their distance from their soldiers. "Ultimately, Hearthglen has been doomed for awhile. Now, it will stand as a decoy to distract the Undead from us. We will avenge all who die here in the future; sacrifices must be made for the Lich King's fall."

"It almost sounds as if we could get along," Aurora chuckled. "If that is all I must leave to prepare for our departure."

"Good, I have business of my own," Warren stated. "Glad to know we can understand each other." _And, of course, it is comforting to know that I will have a chance to watch you die. And now, I must see what Sonja is up to…_

* * *

"What do you think they are saying?" Adrian turned to Gareth, who shrugged and turned to Captain Sonja. "Sorry, our lip reading is not effective at this distance."

"No problem," Sonja said, smiling awkwardly in an attempt to hide her insecurity. _I am sure that the two of them are scheming something, and I am unsure where all of us fall in their schemes. _"Come," Sonja beckoned to the group of soldiers around her; they numbered only around three hundred soldiers, while Aurora had roughly seven hundred under her direct command and Warren had personal control of another six hundred, including the recruits taken from Hearthglen's forces. "We must leave this place. It is no longer safe."

"But…what of our friends and allies?" Illana stammered. "My friend Delilah…"

"For all we know our friends have sided against us," Sonja answered. "It is painful, but if we wish to survive, we must leave here. I used to live in northern Lordaeron; I heard word of an underground path that will take us under the mountains and allow us to emerge twenty leagues from Tyr's Hand. If we can reach that city, no matter what Aurora or Warren says we should be safe; I've been to Tyr's Hand and it always needs new troops."

Adrian and Illana looked at one another before nodding and following Sonja out of the city and into one of the decaying forests of the Western Plaguelands. They, like scores of others, were unsure if they would ever see some of their former friends again. For now, however, their mission came first.

_Delilah…please survive and stay true to yourself, _Illana thought. _I know we will meet again in Tyr's Hand. _The half-elf clasped her hands and was about to start a brief prayer when Adrian interjected.

"Praying for Delilah?" Adrian asked.

"Yes, and the others," Illana replied.

Adrian nodded and clasped his hands around hers. "Let us pray together." The two closed their eyes and offered the words of their souls to the Light. Moments later they moved out with the rest of the column, hoping that they, too, would survive.

* * *

The next morning, one hour after dawn, the troops set out from Hearthglen as Aurora had ordered. Their columns were silent as they marched away from the city; both the New Scarlet Band and the defenders of Hearthglen knew that they would never meet again: it would be a miracle if the city survived another year with its meager garrison.

Tears came to Maxwell Mason's eyes as he glimpsed one last time over his shoulder towards the city he had lived in for the last four years. He was amazed that the time had flown by so quickly; had it really been that long since his fiancé had died and he had agreed to dedicate his life to avenging her death?

Maxwell's story was neither spectacular nor special. The hundreds of others who marched alongside him shared similar tales. Many of them, like Maxwell, had lost good comrades and loved ones before, and now many others like him were bidding farewell once again.

"_If I live long enough to see all of this through, I will return to Hearthglen. If it stands I will rejoin you; if it falls, I will not rest until you all are avenged," _Maxwell recalled his vow to his comrades in the barracks the previous night. He hoped the leaders of Tyr's Hand would be understanding enough to grant his request, but somehow he doubted he'd even live to have such a conversation.

Maxwell grimaced as a cold gust of wind circled around him, causing him to clutch his halberd tighter than ever. The ancient weapon was rusted, pitted, and caked with dried blood of a dozen battles; before Maxwell, nameless members of the Army of Lordaeron had passed the weapon around. Their names had been chipped away from history as chinks from the serrated blade-edge, and Maxwell felt he would surely join that macabre club.

Winter was coming, and with it frost and hatred. The Undead were more at home in the winter, their bodies ignoring numb and chill, their limbs able to slog through snow undaunted. The members of the Scarlet Band all prayed they would reach Tyr's Hand before winter set in, but none were sure if this was feasible. Most had lost track of all time, each day merely an episode in a season that came in two varieties: a day of calm or a day of combat.

Maxwell tilted his eye to the right as the soldiers moved along what little was left of the paved road leading away from Hearthglen, the cobblestones echoing with the reassuring tromp of soldiers' boots. Though a man of twenty-one summers, Maxwell still could act childish at times; now, he peeked to catch a glimpse of a figure standing not sixteen yards away.

"Delilah Corwin," Maxwell whispered to himself, analyzing each syllable of the name as he studied her beautiful long blond hair and admired each facet of her elegant face.

* * *

"_Delilah Corwin?"Maxwell looked quizzically at Warren as the magister weaved a picture of the girl in the air with a series of arcane strands._

"_Yes, that is her name," Warren replied. "She is a paladin, fairly average for her age, though she does she fair determination from what I've heard, though I do not know her personally. You have been specifically matched with her because of your skills."_

_Maxwell was still confused; it was the night before the exodus from Hearthglen, but rather than ordering his troops to prepare Warren had commanded each individual soldier to visit him in his personal quarters. Maxwell had luckily been the eighty-fifth in line, and felt a bit sorry for the others who would probably get no rest that night. _

"_She's…beautiful," Maxwell whispered, his mind drifting away from his duties as he studied the drawing. There were few women at the Hearthglen garrison, and fewer still were the least bit attractive. To Maxwell, Delilah represented a perfect woman._

"_Yes?" Warren's voice was stern and quizzical. "Does that bother you?"_

"_No sir!" Maxwell said hastily, snapping to a pose of attention with his right hand fixed in a salute at his brow. _

"_Good. She is your target. Keep an eye on her and follow through with the plan if she acts in any way against my goals."_

"_Sir?"_

"_Have you been paying attention to anything I said or are you simply thickheaded?" Warren growled and stomped his foot, before relaxing. "No, I am sorry, I suppose I have been explaining things a tad hastily; some of the others did not fully understand my order straightaway. Let me explain again: in the event that she acts in opposition to my plan, you must…"_

* * *

Maxwell gulped and repeated his mission to himself: _I must kill Delilah Corwin._

Character Profile: Maxwell Mason

Age: 21

Rank: Mid-ranking member of Warren's Faction in the Scarlet Band, former Corporal of the Hearthglen Garrison

Affiliation: Member of Warren's Faction of the New Scarlet Band, former member of the Hearthglen Garrison

Abilities: Maxwell is an adept soldier, able to wield a variety of melee weapons through he prefers to use polearms. It is unknown if he possesses any skills beyond basic combat.

Appearance: Maxwell is a lanky, average-looking man with sand-colored hair and brown eyes. He is about six feet two inches tall. He wears a standard suit of armor issued by the Hearthglen Garrison which covers his entire body, though his helmet had a large visor that allows him to reveal his entire face when raised. Maxwell wears a Scarlet Crusade Tabard over his armor.

HES: Hey all, sorry for the horrendously delayed update! After going back to school, work hit me hard and fast, so I've had almost no time to write. Luckily, I have a break coming up in a few weeks so I should be able to release one or two more chapters over the next few months. Thank you all for your patience and I look forward to your reviews; as always, I love feedback! Have a good one!


	10. Depths of Devotion

Chapter 10: Depths of Devotion

Sonja's forces were silent as the trudged through the dying trees of the Western Plaguelands; these pillars of nature, once so vibrant and powerful, had long since given way to the taint of this cursed land. Long ago when this land could still be called Lordaeron these oaks and pines were famous throughout Azeroth as some of the most dependable wood for ship building. Like the great Alliance Fleets that had sunk in the past wars, so too had these trees faded from glory. Though their days of grandeur were gone, these plants still had a pivotal role to play.

Sonja motioned for her troops to scatter through the woods, one or two hiding behind each wide trunk in order to mask their presence. Not even twenty yards from Sonja marched a Scourge battalion, its silent soldiers tramping across the cracked cobblestones of lost Lordaeron. Sonja could hear the clacking of bones and weapon hafts on the decaying granite as she attempted to slow her breathing. Prudence was what her force needed.

The soldiers that had followed Sonja numbered few and contained few of the strongest members of the former Scarlet Band. Sonja herself was powerful, her skills as a priest almost unrivaled in the organization. There were several others who had made names for themselves as well, such as Matthias Clearwater, a paladin who fought in a most uncanny manner by using a two-handed flail. Another famed warrior went by the name of Eleanor Cargill, a middle-aged woman whose beauty had not faded with the years, yet she remained ever quiet, having taken a vow of silence after the death of her best friend during the Siege of Andorhal.

It took an hour for the entire undead column to pass the Scarlet Crusaders' position, and another half hour for the Scourge forces to move far enough away to allow Sonja's troops to move onward. The priest-captain signaled to her soldiers with a sharp whistle, and they rushed rapidly from the woodlands across the road the undead had just traversed, their target the mountains in the distance.

Sonja glanced over her shoulder towards the force of Undead, noting they were moving towards Hearthglen. _Light help them…_

* * *

"This soon? Light damn it all," Warren cursed as he stared over the horizon. He wheeled around and did a rapid teleport, known as a Blink, a distance of several dozen yards, appearing beside Aurora.

"Yes?" Aurora was impatient, annoyed that Warren had halted their march even if it was to check for adversaries; the Inquisitor was confident that her forces could handle an undead force anything short of an army of several thousand.

"It appears that a Scourge force is about half a league from here," Warren stated, gasping slightly as he recovered from the strain of his rapid series of blinks. "I estimate there are at least two thousand of them, while the scouts guess they will reach us…"

"I do not need to hear 'estimates' and 'guesses,'" Aurora growled. "This is all unimportant; we must press onward. Such a paltry army should prove no match for us."

"My Lady, you did not let him finish," Captain Elric cut in, appearing beside his commanding officer. "That battalion is led by a Death Knight. With such an able commander and such a powerful warrior at their fore, such a force is not to be taken lightly."

"You make an excellent point, Elric," Aurora applauded him, ignoring Warren's contribution. "We should adopt _some_ prudence against the enemy, but again such a conflict is unavoidable and thus it would be a waste of time to delay the inevitable. Therefore, I say we set up casters and archers around the hills and place our shock troops in the center. It is a fairly well-tested and old strategy: the ranged troops will funnel the enemy to the center where our melee forces will cut them to ribbons. Elric, rally your marksmen; Warren, gather the mages and move them into position as well."

"As your order, Inquisitor," Elric said, saluting and rushing off.

Warren's reply was slower as he attempted to bottle his rage for being ordered around so directly. "Indeed."

"Good, I shall rally our close combat forces. Be ready for combat within twenty minutes." Aurora stated, moving hastily towards the bulk of the Scarlet Band.

* * *

"Aye?" Lieutenant Terrence 'The Iron Arm' Dickinson mumbled, not bothering to look up from the whetstone he ran along his halberd blade. He cold gray eyes were set on the weapon, his scarred face ignorant of the world save for his trusted weapon.

"S…sir, Inquisitor Aurora has ordered our squad to join the rest of the troops at the front; it seems a Scourge force is approaching our position," the young Susan Isana, a cousin of Captain Elric's stammered as she addressed her commanding officer. The girl shuddered uncontrollably; she was sure of the response of her superior.

Terrence stopped his activity briefly and turned one eye towards Susan. "Go and tell that bitch I will come when I am finished with my work here. Women do not control my actions, and never will."

"Perhaps you would like to retract that statement, lest you find yourself lacking a skull," a voice echoed behind the Lieutenant. He turned to see a girl in her late teens, her blond hair flowing past her shoulders and a hammer resting on her right shoulder.

"And you are…?" Terrence's voice trailed off; he did not feel this mere girl deserved a response. Hell, he missed the old days of the military, before the Alliance's foolish idea to draft women. Females just brought bad luck, and with Aurora in command Terrence was sure it was only a matter of time before they all were slaves of the Lich King.

"My name is Delilah Corwin, and I am a confidant of Inquisitor Aurora's, recently promoted to the rank of Marshal by the Inquisitor herself; my job is to make sure the troops follow our commanders order _to the letter_." the young woman replied. "I had heard tales of your sexism blinding your judgment and sense of duty, and I would suggest you follow our commander's orders."

"Feh, I will come when I am good and ready," Terrence replied, resuming his sharpening. He felt a hand on his shoulder and brushed it off. "When are the undead set to arrive anyway? If I arrive a few minutes late it will make little difference. Besides, with a rusty blade I won't be much good to anyone."

"Tsk…so pigheaded," Delilah muttered. "Well," she raised her voice, "I will ask you one last time: report to your post or face the consequences."

"What consequences?" Terrence did not even look at her, though he heard Susan gasping and turned to see the haft of Delilah's hammer ram itself into the base of his skull.

Delilah smiled and turned to Susan. "Come, help me drag him to the front. I'm sure when he wakes up he will see things differently. If not, the Inquisitor will sort him out."

Susan nodded hastily, not wanting to upset this confident and seemingly powerful person.

_What am I doing? _Delilah considered as she grabbed hold of Terrence's shoulders and lifted his body off the ground. _Is this really a necessary method that Aurora is so interested in utilizing? No, I cannot allow my resolve to falter: we must use any means necessary to slaughter the undead, even if it means subduing an ally, even if it means _killing _an ally…_

* * *

"For the Scarlet Crusade!" Maxwell Mason yelled as he slammed the haft of his halberd through the skull of a ghoul, causing the creature to stumble before the human jammed his weapon's point through its chest. The creature gurgled horribly before falling backwards, toppling onto yet another ghoul who fell to the earth, trapped under the body of its fallen comrade. Maxwell chuckled as he rammed his right boot through the trapped ghoul's face, crushing its cranium and adding another casualty to the growing list of the Scarlet Band's foes.

Maxwell, pleased with his small victory, wheeled around to survey the battlefield and find his next target. Not twenty feet away stood Delilah, her hammer rising and falling as she smashed through the body of a crypt fiend, the spider-like adversary crumbling bit by bit as the maul scored holes across its bloated form.

_'Corwin has been promoted to Marshal,' _Maxwell recalled Warren's words from the night before. _'This means that Aurora places some value in her. My spies have never seen any friendship between them, quite the opposite in fact; it seems to me that Delilah resents Aurora for Baelin's death. Therefore, it is obvious that Aurora sees Delilah as a strong ally, or at least one with a lot of potential given the former's views on only keeping the strong around. Ergo, it is imperative that you tighten your surveillance of Corwin: the very second you see an opening, cut her down. We cannot afford to allow Aurora to gain too many close followers or sycophants.'_

_Is now the time?_ Maxwell considered, watching as Delilah kicked aside a skeleton that was unlucky enough to whirl beside another paladin whose sword whipped wildly around, beheading the creature.

The oblivious Maxwell grunted as the wind was knocked from his lungs and he was sent sprawling onto the ground, kicking up dust which led him to a fit of coughing. He blinked rapidly, clearing the particulate from his eyes. He turned to his left and saw a ghoul, its mouth gaping and dripping with saliva and it rushed towards its downed quarry. Maxwell attempted to push himself to his feet, attempting to use his halberd to prop himself up, but his legs felt weak and his ribs burned.

Maxwell finally managed to rise to his feet and hold his polearm at the ready just in time to see the ghoul collapse, a throwing knife embedded in the base of its skull. Maxwell saw a middle-aged female scout several yards away who winked before rushing off to find more foes to fell with her deadly daggers.

Maxwell hastily scanned the field, hoping to find Delilah. He saw she had moved only a few feet from her original position and was currently engaging a necromancer with help from two other paladins; the Scarlet Crusaders had the upper hand, and it seemed that the corrupt mage would soon meet his end.

_This would be a perfect chance, if only those two with her were not around,_ Maxwell thought. _Best to leave it for now, but I'll keep an eye on her. The second she's alone, I'll charge in and finish the job. It's a shame to have to destroy something so beautiful, but orders are orders…_

* * *

The battle raged for hours upon hours, and minute by minute more corpses were added to the piles on both sides. The initial charge of the undead had been blunted by the New Scarlet Band's shock troops, while their mages and scouts had picked off stragglers from a distance. At first, the humans suffered few casualties, but as the day wore on more and more of them began to fall. Reserves were brought forth to replace the tired troops, but even they tired as the waves of undead seemed endless, and soon fatigue became the Scarlet Crusade's ultimate foe: though the undead were poor fighters, they never tired nor did they feel pain. As afternoon arrived, the humans began to falter, and it seemed the undead would win the day.

Despite their losses, the Scarlet Crusaders fought to the death. Not a single one retreated, ready to sell their lives for their cause rather than appear a coward. As day turned to night, it seemed that the battle had once again become a stalemate as the Scarlet Band found new reserves of energy and struck anew against their undead adversaries.

Then, _he_ arrived.

Inquisitor Aurora led a charge into the center of the undead lines, crushing hundreds of foes with her honor guard alone while others rushed to her side, Delilah among then. The undead began to rout, their necromancers fearful of losing more troops and displeasing their masters. It seemed victory was at hand, until suddenly the undead troops froze and turned back towards the beleaguered Scarlet Crusaders.

"**You dare retreat in the face of such pitiful adversaries?**" A voice boomed across the battlefield, echoing off the hills of Lordaeron. "**Must I show you dogs how pitiful the human race **_**really**_** is?**" The undead lines parted and a single figure walked down the line of skeletal troops who stood erect before he reached them, raising their weapons in salute as he passed by.

The figure was clad in ancient ebon armor, his hand hefting a massive two-handed axe. He appeared human in stature and gait, but behind his visor glowed two putrid yellow orbs, a sign that this man had sold his soul to the Lich King. He was a Death Knight, one of the lieutenants who served directly under Arthas, one who spoke directly with the ruler of the Frozen Throne in Northrend.

"And you are?" Aurora asked, her outward confidence attempting to mask a hint of fear at the arrival of such a powerful individual; Aurora had heard stories of single Death Knights breaking apart entire armies, though she had never fought one. She had heard that even the famed Scarlet Champion Herod had struggled to take down the Death Knight known as Kirul of the Gray Mist.

"**An embodiment of death itself, human,**" the Death Knight rasped. "**I have forsaken my weak human name, and am now known as Tyrick, but you have perhaps heard of my nickname, the Shadow Cleaver.**"

"Feh, names and titles do not frighten me, and I have never heard of you," Aurora shot back, a golden aura building around her. "Come men, let's rip apart this bastard and send the rest of this army to the dust!"

"**You honestly think you stand a chance against me, woman?**" Tyrick let out a deep laugh that sounded like gravel scrapping across marble. "**Your army is tired and numbers now less than twelve hundred by my estimates. You cannot hope to kill my army, nor can you hope to stop me.**"

"If we cut down the Death Knight their army will fall to ribbons," Aurora whispered to the soldiers around her. "Fight with all your strength and bring him down as quickly as possible; I will handle the brunt of his onslaught."

"**Scheming, are we?**" The Death Knight called to Aurora. "**Would you instead prefer to fight me in single combat? It is in your best interest; in the off chance you kill me my army will surely crumble, but **_**when**_** I kill you your troops will still have the insane fervor to continue their futile attack."**

"Why should I accept a duel? We could all just attack you and your army and reach the same result," Aurora yelled back. "Do not think me an overconfident fool who would underestimate the power of one of the Lich King's chosen."

The Death Knight made no reply other than slinging his axe across his back with a thick segment of iron chain. The undead commander then extended both his hands, palms facing towards the ground, as he began a chant in a language no member of the Scarlet Band could understand. Tendrils of mauve magic trickled from the Death Knight's fingertips, snaking towards the ground and rushing through the soil. As the chant continued, bodies of the slain, both Scourge and former Scarlet Crusaders, rose as undead warriors beside a new cadre of zombies from this land's earth. The Scarlet Crusaders growled or gasped in horror as they saw their former comrades joining this new battalion.

After less than a minute, Tyrick ceased his necromantic activity and returned his arms to his sides where the hung loosely. "**I have just summoned six score new soldiers, and have barely even broken a sweat. If you hope to fight against me in full battle, be my guest; I can bring forth far more troops which will choke your force with corpses.** **What is your choice?**"

Aurora gritted her teeth. "Corwin, round up the troops and retreat to the forest behind us where Elric and Warren are stationed. If things start going badly for me, you will all need to kill the Death Knight before he can raise his army," Aurora muttered, careful to move her lips as little as possible.

Delilah merely nodded and beckoned for the soldiers to follow her, moving hastily towards the forest as she was bid. Fear gnawed at her heart; would Aurora really be able to stand a chance against such a foe? Or…perhaps she knew she would die, and merely hoped to weaken the Death Knight enough so that her subordinates could kill him without much trouble…

"**Good, I will withdraw my troops as well,**" Tyrick stated, sending his undead forces into retreat with a wave of his left hand while drawing his battle-axe with his right.

Aurora hefted _Uther's Arm_ towards her foe, her aura growing with each second until the golden light surrounding her made the darkened clearing bright as day. "Before dawn comes, I swear your body will be dust on this field. You cannot be forgiven for resurrecting our soldiers as undead pawns."

Tyrick chuckled; his gambit had worked. The foolish woman really _had_ been deeply offended by his little show. Ultimately, he hoped her anger would cloud her judgment and make his victory easier. Regardless, however, he held the upper hand; they both knew it. Perhaps this duel would be a chance for him to test a few of his rustier skills.

The Death Knight held out his axe, pointing it towards Aurora, parodying her stance with his own, a sinister charcoal hued aura manifesting itself around his body, making the moon's light avoid his figure, turning him almost invisible in the evening shadow. "**Come then, Scarlet Leader, let this duel commence!**"

* * *

"Ugh, tastes like shit," Gareth whined as he chewed the rotting bread from his haversack. "Illana, can I get some of yours?"

"Well, I…" The half-elf began, reaching towards her bag of vittles.

"Be grateful for what you have," Adrian retorted, stepping between the two. "A lady should always be entitled to better food. Besides, you can afford to live off your body fat for a bit."

"Oh, such a gentleman," Gareth answered sarcastically. "Let's see if you are so noble once your own rations turn into balls of fungus."

"I rather like a good mushroom," Illana cut in, unsure if the two comrades were joking or actually tending to animosity. "Anyway, I am not too hungry and I cannot eat much, so you two are welcome to have some of mine."

Adrian shook his head. "No thanks, as I said it is rude to take food from a lady and also I just ate. Plus, we are all running low on rations, so we had best be careful with what little we have. Who knows when we will get to re-supply?"

"True," Gareth said, "apparently we will reach the path through the mountains sometime tomorrow, and after that we are off to the Eastern Plaguelands. Apparently, that region is even more corrupted with the plague than here, so our chances of finding food outside the walls of Tyr's Hand are not too high."

Gareth yawned and stood up, walking off from Illana and Adrian. "Anyhow, I need some sleep. I have last shift at watch meaning I need to wake up in five hours or so. Goodnight!"

"Goodnight!" The two called back in unison, watching as their friend made his way towards the edge of camp with several other soldiers.

"He's a good man," Illana said, breaking the brief silence following Gareth's departure.

"Yeah, he and I have been friends for a long time," Adrian replied. "I taught him to improve his aim, and he taught me the best types of feathers for fletching."

Another period of silence followed as the two stared off into the night sky, studying the glimmering stars and the lonely moon.

"Do you think the rest are alive?" Illana asked, her voice neutral. "That undead force we saw earlier was definitely moving towards Hearthglen.

Adrian paused, choosing his words carefully as he replied. "I will not lie and say they are alive, but at the same time I have faith in them."

"But…what of Aurora and Warren's dissent? Perhaps the two sides weakened one another before confronting the undead!" Illana's voice became fearful as she moved towards Adrian, tears beginning to form around the edges of her eyes.

"I'm sure they resolved it all; when the undead come, people always put aside their differences," Adrian answered. "With Aurora, Elric, Warren, and the tons of other powerful fighters there is no way a force of even that size could survive. Delilah is there too and she is…" Adrian trailed off without finishing, turning away from Illana.

"I know you loved her," Illana said, he voice slightly sullen. "She was…is…quite beautiful."

"Yes, and she had a determination and kindness I saw in few others, though she rarely was civil to me," Adrian sighed. "But…no, I cannot think about her any longer." Adrian turned back towards Illana. "Because...you…"

"Yes?" Illana's heart beat quickly, somewhat confused and yet interested in what might occur.

"N…nevermind," Adrian stuttered, walking off. "I am going to make some arrows before my shift on watch. I will see you tomorrow."

As Adrian walked off, he cursed himself in his mind. _She knows of my feelings for Delilah, so how can I announce feelings for her as well without seeming a scoundrel? Damn it all…Delilah is gone and Illana is surely out of reach…_

Illana watched Adrian walk off into the night, unsure of how to feel about this man. _What are you seeking, Adrian Loksey?_

* * *

"Caves?" Harold Rasenberg, Sonja's recently appointed second in command, stated, his face holding an expression of extreme befuddlement.

"Indeed," Sonja replied calmly. "Going over the mountains would take too long and would be far too dangerous and difficult without climbing equipment. There is one mountain pass I knew of long ago, but it has since become a Scourge garrison, and with good reason, as it is the second most obvious way to enter and leave the Eastern Plaguelands, the most obvious is, as you can guess, the route the rest of the Scarlet Band is on, which will take them along the old Lordaeron roads to enter the Eastern Plaguelands from the south."

"So you mean to suggest that our best route is _beneath_ the mountains?" Harold's mind remained puzzled.

"Precisely. There is a cave that runs under the mountains and should allow us to emerge several leagues from Tyr's Hand. It was used to great effect during the First War against the Horde, allowing Lordaeron's troops to move across the continent at greater speeds. Initially, the caves were full of Dark Trolls and other beasts, but they were cleared out during the First War and were cleared once again after the Second War came to a close. When I was young I used to play in those caves with friends, and so I know their layout well.

"Alas," Sonja sighed, "it has been at least four years since the last attempt to clear those caves, and as such I fear we will not be able to use this pathway unscathed. It will be safer than a direct route, to be sure, and I doubt the Scourge know of its existence; even if they have troops stationed there, the caves are very narrow and will prevent their greater numbers from giving them an advantage. Regardless, we must walk with prudence and escape the caves as quickly as possible. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, Captain," Harold stated. "I will begin rousing the troops."

* * *

Silence covered the Scarlet Band and Scourge battalion as their two leaders, Inquisitor Aurora and the Death Knight Tyrick circled one another. The stood half a dozen feet apart, each scanning the other's body and movements carefully, calculating the perfect moment to attack. Now and then, one of them would feint, but neither committed to a full attack as they watched the other take guard stances.

This impasse continued for an hour and then, finally, Tyrick struck. Moving with an unholy speed, the Death Knight charged towards Aurora, his massive battle-axe held against his right side, the weapon parallel to the ground. Aurora hastened to raise her hammer to guard as her foe's massive weapon slammed into her.

Aurora reeled from the impact, her boots digging into the soil as she was forced back from the blow. The Inquisitor regained her composure just in time to whirl out of the way of Tyrick's next strike, his weapon creating a small gust of air that touched Aurora's face as she barely avoided the blow.

Aurora saw an opening as she moved past the Death Knight's left side and swung her own weapon rapidly, the hammer glowing with a golden light as it rammed into the side of Tyrick's helmet. A cheer erupted from the Scarlet Crusaders, their joy overflowing as they saw their commander hit home.

"**You bitch!**" Tyrick roared, recovering quickly, clutching his axe in his left hand while he turned and grabbed Aurora's head with his right before moving his hand downward and slamming her face into the soil. Dust shot into the air and blood flowed from the Inquisitor's broken nose as the force of the impact seemed to shake the earth.

The shouts of victory from the Scarlet Band quickly turned to gasps of fear. They could only watch in horror as Tyrick held Aurora down with one hand and raised his axe with the other, readying his weapon for the killing blow.

"FIRE!" Elric's voice boomed through the trees as dozens of arrows and bolts of magic flew from the ranged troops at his disposal, the missiles sailing towards the Death Knight and striking him in various parts of his body. The force of the impact of Aurora's hammerstroke, coupled with the profusion of missiles striking his head caused Tyrick's helmet to crack, revealing a hideously rotted face of a former human who now possessed nothing save wrinkled skin and dusty hair.

Tyrick rose and turned towards the forest as the barrage continued, shaking his head. "**I see there is no honor among you all. Regardless, it has become obvious to me that this woman is the sole person here who can even hope to hold a candle against me. Oh how I wished killing you all would be more fun, but alas I suppose the time has come to unleash my army.**"

"Or perhaps you would opt for another challenger!" A voice echoed from the trees, causing the Scarlet Crusaders to gasp as they saw the owner of the voice. The lone figure stepped forward, hammer in her hand, her gaze directed squarely at Tyrick. "My name is Delilah Corwin, Marshal under the command of your former opponent Aurora Cronos. I will avenge my commander's defeat."

"**You honestly think you can challenge me? Silly girl,**" Tyrick replied, his tone flowing with dark humor, "**I would finish you off in but a mere moment. As much as it would interest me to crush the hopes and dreams of your pathetic organization once again, I would rather not waste my time and instead butcher you all.**"

"What if she fought alongside another?" Captain Elric Isana, the famed sniper, stepped forward to stand beside Delilah, adjusting his glasses as he loaded his crossbow.

"**Heh, I doubt even the **_**two**_** of you would prove much sport, but alas my first duel was tragically short and I was unable to practice as much as I would have liked. Come then, though when you two fall I will unleash my forces; two minor victories are enough escalation for the massive battlefield victory to come."**

"Delilah, you do not have to do this," Elric whispered to her. "I respect your desire to protect Inquisitor Aurora, but your sacrifice is unnecessary."

"No, we shall fight together," Delilah replied. "If you notice, that Death Knight failed to finish Aurora, and now he's been distracted by our challenge. I have an idea that will give us victory; all I need you to do is continue your barrage and keep him moving. Can you do that?"

"Last I checked, I was the higher ranked officer," Elric answered jokingly before turning stern. "Sadly, I am at a loss as how to proceed against a Death Knight. Fine, we can follow your plan."

Delilah and Elric charged, the paladin moving left while the sniper raced to the right, firing a crossbow bolt before switching to his longbow and beginning a series of quick shots. Elric's accuracy was reduced while moving, but he still managed a fairly high degree of precision, burying an arrow in the joint between the armor on the Death Knight's left shoulder. The undead commander roared angrily and charged towards the marksman, slinging his axe across his back and drawing out a long section of chain as he did so. Tyrick whirled the chain as he charged directly at Elric, surprising the human with his speed.

Elric hopped backwards as he continued to fire arrow after arrow, his right hand scrambling to and from his quiver as he unleashed each shot. Tyrick had now begun to whirl his chain around his head, changing the arc of the swing as arrows neared him to knock most from the air before they came within a foot of his body.

_Damn his chain, I can't get a single shot through!_ Elric mentally cursed as he fired another arrow. His fingers and arm burned from the snapping of the bowstring, and his legs tired from his constant motion, but the Scarlet Captain battled against the pain as he attempted to put more shots towards the every-nearing foe. As if signaling the direness of his situation, Elric, upon reaching back to grab another arrow, found his quiver empty.

_Damn it all,_ Elric's mind raced faster as he saw the Death Knight three yards off, his body now swirling with a black aura that had surely aided in weakening the earlier shots that had hit on target.

"I won't just sit back and die!" Elric roared, discarding his normally calm demeanor and screaming at the top of his lungs, reaching into his tunic to grab a dozen throwing knives which he hurled at Tyrick. The Death Knight seemed nonplussed and whirled his chain to knock the projectiles to the ground as he came within several feet of Elric.

The Death Knight was close enough now for Elric to see his face, to study the scars and wounds that coated his foe's visage. The Death Knight had become dour, his focus completely on Elric. As his chain wheeled towards the Scarlet marksman, Elric smirked and kicked his foot, scraping it across the dusty ground.

Tyrick stopped, coughed, and grunted in pain. He looked at the source of the damage, noting a glowing gold dagger jammed into his stomach, piercing both his unholy aura and his heavy plate armor.

"**Bastard…human…what is this?**" The Death Knight gasped.

"It is the thirteenth dagger in my special set," Elric replied. "It is enchanted with a large amount of holy magic and a spell that can stop foes in their tracks. When I threw the other twelve at you, I purposefully dropped this one onto the ground so that you would ignore it. Then, when you came within range, I kicked it into your stomach. It won't kill you by itself, but," Elric's smirk grew as he drew a pre-loaded crossbow off his back, "it will give me the perfect opportunity to slaughter you at point-blank." Elric leveled the weapon at his foe's face and prepared to pull the trigger.

"**If only it were that simple,**" the Death Knight grunted, closing his eyes and uttering several words. Instantly, the dagger fell from his wound and disintegrated to nothingness, allowing Tyrick to move his head to the side, just in time to dodge the bolt from Elric's crossbow as it whizzed by his face, slightly breaking the skin on his cheek but causing no real damage. The human could not tell what happened until he felt Tyrick's chain encircle his body and drag him to the ground.

"**You Scarlet Crusaders are honestly some of the most overconfident scoundrels I have ever fought,**" Tyrick stated, pulling on the chain to tighten his stranglehold on Elric. The sniper wheezed and gasped as his airways were constricted, but no matter how he struggled he could not break free from the chains. "**I will admit that dagger was **_**quite**_** painful and, had your crossbow struck me head-on that would have been my end. Alas, you failed to consider that I know spells of darkest magic that can sew flesh enough to force weapons from them, even if the rest of my body cannot move."**

Elric attempted to say something as Tyrick finished his statement, but the lack of air prevented him from doing so. Instead, Elric's smirk returned anew. "**Why are you so pleased human? Or perhaps you have realized the futility of your struggle? Do not worry, I have seen your skills and will ensure the Lich King gives you proper treatment.**"

"My, the overconfidence of the Scourge really _is _startling," a voice stated from behind Tyrick. The Death Knight wheeled just in time to catch two hammers in his body: the first slammed into his chest, shattering his ribs even beneath his aura and armor, while the second crushed his skull, sending bits of rotted flesh cascading over his pitted armor and causing his body to crumble to the ground before it turned to dust, the assault from weapons enchanted with holy magic too much for his body to take.

"Good riddance, you piece of shit," Aurora Cronos spat, kicking one of Tyrick's bracers across the field before walking over to untie Elric from the chain.

It took several seconds for Elric to regain his breath, but after he did so he asked the obvious question. "Inquisitor Aurora? How did you…?"

Aurora merely pointed behind her where Delilah Corwin stood, a proud smile on her face, her hammer slung triumphantly over her shoulders.

"Looks like the plan worked," Delilah said, walking over to Elric and offering him a hand to help him to his feet. "That pompous bastard totally forgot about me and concentrated fully on you, buying me enough time to use healing magic on Aurora. Then, it was easy for the two of us to take down that bastard, especially after you weakened him and allowed us to catch him off guard."

"Smart," Elric replied, scouring the ground for still-usable projectiles.

"Yes," Aurora stated, turning towards Delilah. "I suppose I owe you something for giving me the chance to murder that Death Knight. Anyway, we cannot waste time: the undead appear to be routing without their leader. Let's grind as many of those monsters under our heels as we can!"

"Yes, Inquisitor!" Delilah said, saluting and rushing towards the masses of Scourge forces beside the other troops who had emerged from the forest.

_Perhaps I will enjoy working with you, Marshal Corwin,_ Aurora pondered. _As much as I hate to admit it, you may have saved my life and definitely ensured the success of this battle._

* * *

"Well, here we are," Sonja attempted to remain cheery and she stood before the dank opening in the side of the mountain, its sides slicked with lichen and moss while the skeletons of two trolls outside failed to make things any less grim. "If we continue at a steady rate, I expect us to clear these caves within four days. Now, I will not lie: these caves were once the home of trolls and other beasts. We risk a conflict with these creatures, though they should prove far less of a threat and far easier than undead to kill as these monsters are mortal. Also, these caves do support a culture of edible fungi, so we should be able to restock some of our food supplies; I doubt the plague has touched this place, but still check anything you collect carefully before consumption. Now, are there any questions?"

"None whatsoever," Harold said good-naturedly, attempting to lighten the mood. Little changed; the faces of the soldiers remained fearful and dour. Gone was the religious fervor found at the founding of the Scarlet Crusade, long vanished was the hope of victory after forming the Scarlet Band. All that remained for this meager cadre, a force numbering barely three hundred souls, was a hatred of the Undead. Most expected to die, many to die very soon, but each held in his or her heart a desire to not fall easily; the Scourge would feel their wrath even if each soldier was ripped to shreds. Few expected they would reach Tyr's Hand, but none of them would give up on the effort.

"Well then, let us begin our descent," Sonja stated. "Keep your weapons drawn at all times. I want the mages, scouts, and priests in the center, while the warriors and paladins defend the front and rear. Though I am a priest, I will personally lead from the front as I am the only one who knows these passages well." The soldiers set about organizing themselves into the groups Sonja had asked for, the best melee fighters standing at the very front or very rear of the formation to ensure a tough outer layer of the force.

Sonja's faction entered the caves as the noonday sun reached its zenith. Each Scarlet Crusader offered a brief prayer as he or she entered the cavern, hoping that this was not the last bit of light they would ever see.

Sonja conjured a ball of glowing energy around her hand, providing ample light for the expedition. Several other priests in various parts of the formation followed suit, their spells piercing the darkness of the cave.

_It is good for us to see, but sadly this will alert foes deeper into the caves that we are coming,_ Sonja considered as she attempted to recall the cave layout in her mind, directing her soldiers through the winding paths of the catacombs. _Luckily, most of the creatures here accustomed to the dark may be bothered by our lights and shy away rather than attack us. Perhaps I am worried for nothing._

Suddenly, Sonja heard the sound of movement and raised her hand, palm perpendicular to the smooth cave floor, as a sign for her forces to halt. Instantly, the clanking of armor and tramp of feet stopped as Sonja listened.

_Damn, perhaps our movement made too much noise and we roused something,_ Sonja thought as he heard the sounds of scurrying and scraping. _These catacombs direct sound; our movements may have been echoed for miles. If we angered some sort of the great beast…_Just as quickly as it had come, the sound stopped. Sonja looked around warily, then shrugged and motioned for her troops to move onwards though put a finger to her lips to indicate the need for more silent movement. _Was it just my imagination then? _

Suddenly, Sonja heard a grunt of pain to her left side and looked in horror as one of her paladins collapsed, the flesh of his face mostly gone and a hideous purple protoplasm weaving around his skull. The priest erected a magical shield just in time to block another blast of this hideous magic as she squinted into the darkness in hopes of seeing their attackers.

Behind her, the lines were in chaos. Many of the troops began to panic and attempt to flee, some of them pushing through allies. Other troops stood their ground and looked wildly for the source of the confusion; few troops save those at the front had any idea exactly what was going on, and even they were unsure of who their assailant or assailants were.

Sonja's forces had not been marching long, and thus with a rapid run many of them reached the cave entrance within a quarter of an hour, oblivious to the shouts of their comrades behind them. To their horror, the entrance was blocked, a giant boulder in the way.

"Was there an avalanche?" One stuttered.

"What the hell is going on? Maybe we took a wrong turn?" Cried another.

"Or perhaps you are all sealed in," a sinister voice said, the syllables ricocheting off the cavern walls as a figure who had been crouching at the base of the stone rose and coated the Scarlet Crusaders with a wave of dark magic, slaughtering half a score instantly while the others rushed off in fear, only to be cut down one by one by this figure's magic.

Meanwhile, Sonja focused all her energy on her barrier, but with each second is retracted slightly, covering less and less of an area and allowing more and more soldiers to become casualties of the magical blasts which whipped through the darkness. Priests, and even some paladins, attempted to erect other barriers or heal the wounded, but ultimately their efforts proved meaningless as the rate of attacks intensified.

Melee fighters charged into the darkness, swinging weapons wildly at the apparition-like attackers striking from the shadows. Most fell before getting far, but several struck home, felling targets and reducing the magical onslaught slightly.

Harold was among the soldiers who charged forward and, as he felled a second foe, called back to his commander. "Sonja! It's the undead! They are here!"

"Damn, the Scourge? Here? Impossible!" Sonja cried back.

"Feh, how dare you compare us to them!" A voice called back from the darkness and immediately the magical barrage stopped. The Scarlet Crusaders also stopped their attacks and those further out retreated back to their lines, many in need of healing.

"Who…the hell are you?" Sonja called into the darkness, her fear erasing any knowledge she held.

"We are the Forsaken," a voice called back, and suddenly a series of torches erupted with flame, their light illuminating the figures of several score Forsaken clad in dark robes. The voice had come from a figure standing at the front of the assembly, her robes by far the most ornate including bronze bone charms that hung from the hem. "We have trapped you here and mean to massacre what few of you Scarlets are left!"

Adrian, Illana, and Gareth who stood in the middle of the group, could not see what was occurring but could hear the majority of it. "Even if you kill us, the oth…" Adrian began to cry out before Illana clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Adrian, stay quiet! Do not betray the others! If we die here, at least these Forsaken will stop pursuing our comrades," Illana whispered, her tone harsh and commanding to hide her fear.

"Sorry, it's just…these Forsaken look familiar…" Adrian muttered.

"I still do not understand why Forsaken are in this cave," Sonja said. "Can you not grow enough mushrooms in your usurped capitol?"

"While the flora here in lovely, our goal is and always has been you all," the lead figure spoke again. "I am surprised none of your ranks seem to remember me, but I suppose I encountered only a small number of your force; it's a shame, you will take knowledge of us all to your graves. My name is Dextra, the leader of this organization, and we are Glade, a subsidiary of the Royal Apothecary Society. The time of our vengeance has come!"

Character Profile: Gareth Stinbourg

Age: 18

Rank: Mid-ranked Scarlet Scout

Affiliation: Member of Sonja's Faction, former member of the Scarlet Band's Crimson Company, former member of the Scarlet Monastery's 11th Scouting Battalion

Abilities: Gareth is an archer with above average skills in marksmanship. He usually uses a longbow, though on occasion he uses throwing axes. His close combat skills are fairly weak, and he only has rudimentary skill with a dirk.

Appearance: Gareth is five feet six inches tall and has a slightly plump build, though he is by no means fat. His hair is dark brown and his eyes are blue. He wears a red tunic and pants, as well as the Scarlet Crusade tabard. Occasionally, Gareth wears a dark green tunic to blend in with his surroundings, though he often merely covers himself with leaves, twigs, and other natural objects to cover the red in his outfit and disguise his appearance.

HES: And so another chapter comes to a close! Both groups of Scarlet Crusaders have met a rough time: though Aurora and Warren's factions have managed to defeat a force of Scourge (helped greatly by their defeat of the Death Knight Tyrick) they have a long way to go to Tyr's Hand! Meanwhile, Glade has reappeared and seems to have caught Sonja's Faction in a trap! Will they successfully escape or are they doomed to die?

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I hope to update at least one more time before the end of January if I am able. As always, I ask that you please review; reader feedback is always valued and appreciated!


	11. Reincarnation

Chapter 11: Reincarnation 

"Im…possible!" Sonja stuttered as the flickering flames of the Forsaken's torches swayed to and fro to eliminate the shrouded and twisted figures of the undead magicians. The priest froze, her heartbeats seeming to come an hour after one another. She could only stand in horror, watching as the members of Glade cackled, necromantic magic arcing from their bodies and engulfing the Scarlet Crusaders.

Dextra was elated, unable to keep herself from cackling as she fired blast after blast of energy towards the humans, her face alight as she watched her foes struggle. A young man, not more than twenty-two, cringed and cried out in agony as a violet bolt struck him in the chest, the dark magic slowly constricting his lungs until they finally burst, causing the soldier to cough up a pint of blood before his limp corpse collapsed to the cave floor. This was too easy; her plan had worked perfectly. The Scarlet Crusaders were confused and fearful, unprepared and unable to react effectively. Dextra took her time: she could easily kill many of these pitiful foes with but a passing thought, but she preferred to watch them suffer; these humans had slaughtered the Forsaken like monsters and so they would receive no sympathy.

The Scarlet Crusaders were in chaos; dozens rushed this way and that, some still attempting in vain to flee while others charged blindly at their foes. The undead were fewer in number than the humans, but the discord they had sewn had given them a huge upper hand. Each second the plight of the Scarlet Band looked more and more dire, yet some refused to give in and die.

Adrian and Illana stood back to back, the former firing arrows while the later shot bolts of arcane and holy energy towards their adversaries. The two formed a circle of destruction, taking down a mage here and there, wheeling back into the crowd each time their foes were alerted to their presence.

Gareth also did his fair share of fighting as he hurled a throwing axe through the chest of one of the members of Glade. He dodged a bolt of magic by ducking behind a stalagmite before re-emerging with bow-drawn to plant an arrow squarely in the skull of one of the Forsaken torch-bearers; the undead figure tumbled backwards, dropping the flaming brand as he did so which caught on the robe of an adjacent mage, catching her robe on fire and burning her to a crisp. Gareth used this chance to move forward and collect his throwing axe before retreating to his position behind a massive pointed rock.

Sonja continued to remain stolid as carnage unfolded around her. _I've…failed, _she thought, her face twitching. _I have led my troops to their death. This will be our grave! Our mission has been an utter failure!_

Dextra motioned for the members of Glade to move forward, their hands pointed forward as they splayed magic into the Scarlet Crusade's lines. Some of the Forsaken had begun to swig from vials and bottles they had stowed beneath their robes, the arcane potions inside bolstering their magical power or resistance to the attacks of the Scarlet Crusade. Others began to hurl similar glass containers into the human lines; as the glass shattered, deadly smog swirled throughout the cave, choking Scarlet Crusaders and sending them to the ground, convulsing as their lungs were filled with toxic smoke.

Dextra fixed her eyes on Sonja, breaking off from her underlings and moving directly towards the priest. The Priest Captain snapped out of her haze as she noticed the robed figure gliding towards her across the slick stones of the cavern floor. Dextra began to chant, a ball of black magical fire engulfing her entire arm. Sonja reacted quickly, firing a weak blast of holy magic at Dextra's chest, causing the undead to stumble and groan, interrupting the chant and causing the Forsaken's spell to dissipate.

"Damn, it looks like she will not go down easy," Dextra muttered. The leader of Glade waved her hands and conjured a barrier which blocked several more of Sonja's energy blasts. The Forsaken female began to rummage in her robes before producing a vial of emerald liquid, which she placed to her lips and swallowed. As the contents of the vial trickled down her throat, an aura the same color as the liquid engulfed Dextra's body. As Dextra finished draining the liquid, her magical shield dissipated.

Sonja smiled as she saw her opening and fired a concentrated spear of holy power at her foe. Dextra yawned, nonplussed as the spell struck her head, only to dissipate against the aura. Sonja was stunned; one of her most powerful spells had no effect on this enhanced foe.

"You look confused, human," Dextra guffawed, walking slowly towards Sonja. The Scarlet Captain continued to fire blasts of energy, but each one broke harmlessly on the aura as it hit. "You see, we know your organization favors Holy magic, as such spells are the weakness of our species. The concoction I just consumed is known as Sylvanas's Tears and contains a mixture of Gnarlrock mushrooms, bat fangs, and paladin's blood; it's the perfect defense against all types of holy energy."

Sonja shivered, but regained her composure rapidly and drew her mace, swinging it at her approaching foe. Dextra caught Sonja's wrist and clenched her hand, cracking the bones in Sonja's wrist and causing the priest to drop her mace as she screamed in pain. "I did also mention that this liquid temporarily increases my physical strength as well yes?" Dextra chuckled, her crooked nose shaking as her face neared Sonja's. "I believe," Dextra continued, her free hand covered with azure energy, its index finger extended towards Sonja's stomach, "it is time for you to die."

* * *

"Damn it all," Warren cursed, standing up rapidly and kicking over the chair he had just been sitting in. Sweat beaded on the elder's brow as he stared across the table at Maxwell Mason. "It is just as I feared."

Delilah's recent victory over the Death Knight Tyrick had earned her high praise with Aurora, making their relationship closer. Though Delilah still only held the rank of Marshal, Aurora had given her control of a unit of two dozen troops, a force of bodyguards that now rarely left her side. Additionally, Warren had gained scorn from the troops for not standing up to fight against the Death Knight; ironically, Warren's absence had been one of necessity, as he had been busily battling a cadre of Necromancers on the army's western flank. Alas, Aurora did not believe this tale, nor did most of the Scarlet Band's troops, including many of Warren's own faction. Dissent had started to spread among the ranks, and many of the soldiers had pledged their allegiance to Aurora, whether surreptitiously or openly. After the battle with the undead, the New Scarlet Band totaled one thousand troops, with six hundred loyal to Aurora and four hundred loyal to Warren.

Maxwell sat silent, unsure of what to say to his commander.

"If only you had killed Delilah earlier, then this never would have happened!" Warren roared, slamming his fist on the table.

"Sir!" Maxwell replied. "I tried my best, but it was difficult; she was always accompanied by other troops!"

"Yes, and now it will be harder, for she will _always_ be surrounded by soldiers!"

"But…sir…look at it this way; if not for Delilah, that Death Knight may have caused massive damage and even caused us to lose the battle!"

"Stop making excuses and 'what ifs,'" Warren was fuming, pacing rapidly through the tent. "You will still kill Delilah Corwin, and you will do it before we leave in the morning, meaning you have six hours."

"H…how?" Maxwell stuttered, his eyes quivering; he knew that failure would not be tolerated and would be met with harsh punishment.

"That is for you to figure out, now get out of my sight!"

* * *

"This is…too much," Delilah said in awe as she gazed at the table arrayed before her outside Aurora's tent. The Inquisitor and Captain Elric were already seated, beckoning for Delilah to take the final seat at the table. Atop the oak surface a fantastic meal was arrayed: aged cheese, fine wine, and even meat. Delilah knew this was a reward; such food was rare, especially in the few remaining ration packs that the Scarlet Band possessed.

"Are you going to stand gawking all day or are you going to join us?" Aurora asked before placing a piece of salted beef into her mouth. Delilah nodded hesitantly and joined her commanders at the table, pausing briefly before digging into the feast at hand.

"You did well yesterday," Elric said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and placing his goblet on the table, accidently sloshing a bit of wine on the wood. "You certainly surprised everyone with your courage, quick-thinking and skill."

"I only did what I thought was best for the Scarlet Crusade," Delilah stated. "I do not seek a reward."

"Heh, so modest," Aurora laughed, "you should take more credit. I was right to see potential in you; so many other fools did little of value during the battle, or rather were too weak to do anything useful. No, your promotion was well deserved.

"However," Aurora continued, fixing her gaze on Delilah, "you must be more wary than ever. I have heard from some of Warren's defectors that he had plans in place to assassinate every soldier loyal to me. Most likely, he is currently focusing on the more promising and threatening members; your recent rise to prominence and victory over the Death Knight have surely drawn that damned mage's attention. I did not just give you soldiers to give you a sense of command; you will need bodyguards if you want to sleep peacefully at night."

"Well…what should I do if an assassin comes for me?" Delilah whispered.

"Isn't it obvious?" Aurora replied. "Kill him."

Delilah mentally struggled: she may have a human foe. No, she had resolved long ago to do what was necessary to save her beloved Lordaeron. She was clearly more valuable to the cause than some sadistic dissenter, and thus she needed to survive. The only option was to remain alive at all costs.

"Of course," Delilah answered, her resolve rising.

"Good," Aurora stated. "Now, onto other matters: the time has come to discuss the planned route of march."

Aurora stood up and walked over to a corner of her tent, grabbed a clunky object and unfolded it, assembling a folding table in seconds. She reached into a rucksack at her feet and produced a scroll which she unrolled atop the folding table. Aurora slammed her right index finger onto the parchment and began to speak.

"I estimate this to be our current position, a location roughly twenty miles east-southeast of Hearthglen," Aurora began, circling the region with her finger. "If we can pick up our slovenly rate of march a bit we should be able to reach the Eastern Plaguelands within three days. Sadly, the fastest path will force us to move through Andorhal yet again."

Aurora sighed before continuing. "It's our only option. We must fight through the undead again. Even with fewer men we will succeed. We are not so weak as to die to such rabble."

Delilah and Elric sat silently, knowing any words of dissent would be shot down: Aurora had set her sights on this plan, and nothing would change. Even so, the two had no other ideas: their options were to do nothing or attempt the route through Andorhal.

Aurora turned towards her two subordinates and paused as if hoping to solicit a response. After neither said a word, the Inquisitor waved her hand. "You two are dismissed; get some rest, I hope to leave at dawn as usual. If we are lucky we can reach Andorhal within two days."

Elric nodded and left the tent, with Delilah following closely behind. The newly promoted Marshal turned back to her superior before heading out.

"Goodnight, commander," Delilah whispered.

Aurora turned and raised an eyebrow before chuckling slightly and replying, "Goodnight Marshal Corwin."

Delilah smiled as she left the tent, her newly appointed bodyguards trotting behind her. The group walked for fifteen minutes before reaching Delilah's tent. She bid goodnight to her guardians and slipped into the canvas structure.

As Delilah entered the tent, a sharp voice greeted her. "Hello and goodbye, Delilah!"

The paladin reacted just in time to wheel out of the way of a sword strike and to draw her hammer, squinting in an attempt to see her foe in the darkness.

"Who the hell are you?" Delilah roared, hoping to alert her guards. She attempted to summon holy energy to light the room, but found herself feeling drained and incapable of such a gesture.

"Enjoying the magic dampener? My master put it together for me since I often fight foes with magical aptitude and I cannot use anything beyond basic martial skills myself," the foe stated.

"Why would you tell me all of this you son of a bitch? And where the hell are my guards?" Delilah fumed as she swung her hammer at the outline of the figure, only to watch as it dodged out of the way and kicked her in the gut, causing her to double over in pain on the cold soil that made up the tent's floor.

"Your guards cannot hear you," the figure answered. "The magic dampener I brought also has a built-in sound canceller, so anyone outside this structure cannot hear anything out of the ordinary. Also, I will not permit you to leave here and signal your sentries," at that the figure rushed in and clasped manacles around Delilah's feet, preventing her from standing.

"Just what the fuck is going on?" Delilah screeched, flailing her arms as another set of manacles bound her wrists.

Delilah heard the figure sigh. "It's such a shame to kill someone so beautiful. In another life you and I could have been husband and wife."

"You sick bastard, just who are you?" Delilah roared.

"That is none of your concern," the figure stated, leveling his sword at her throat, "All you need to know about me is that it is my sworn duty to kill you."

* * *

"Mason's sure taking his time," the gruff voice of Arnold Reskin barked. The veteran huntsman ran a whetstone along the blade of his knife, eyeing the weapon as his most precious treasure. "Do you figure his cowardice got the best of him?"

"No, that is impossible, he is fully loyal to the cause and carries out every mission to the letter," Warren replied.

"Heh, it's funny, you sent him to kill one girl and it takes him an hour, whereas I took care of the six men you assigned me in ten minutes," Arnold replied, chuckling.

"Not everyone is as cold-blooded as you," Warren answered.

"Look who's talking? And you say that like it's a bad thing."

Now it was Warren's turn to chuckle. "Of course not; it's a compliment."

At that moment, the flap of Warren's tent opened and an out of breath soldier rushed in. His hair was matted to his brow by sweat, and he gasped and panted. He hastily saluted Warren and caught his breath before speaking. "Sir, I hate to disturb you, but we're under attack!"

"Damn it all," Warren growled, rushing out of the tent, staff in hand. Arnold and the sentry followed closely behind him, the former licking his lips at the prospect of battle.

* * *

"Marshal Corwin, the undead are…" Gina Flint, one of Delilah's newly appointed guards, stuttered as she rushed into her superior's tent. Outside the sounds of battle already raged; the rest of Delilah's defenders were already busy staving off the first wave of Scourge forces that assailed their campsite. Gina, however, ignored the noise as she gasped at the scene before her: standing in the center of the tent was a man with a sword pointed at the Delilah's body; the Marshal was unable to move, her wrists and ankles bound by a series of shackles.

Gina wasted no time and lunged forward, tackling the man, causing them both to tumble backwards, ripping the covering of Delilah's tent. The two rolled across the hardened earth, the assailant's blade dropping and clattering against a tree as they continued their scuffle.

_Damn, am I lucky,_ Delilah thought as she watched the scene unfold from her place on the ground. _Still I need to get out of these chains and get into the fray; I also need to find out who that traitor is and slaughter him before he has the chance to cause more harm. _

Maxwell growled and Gina wrestled against him; he was surprised at the woman's strength, as she was at the very least able to hold her own against him. As each second of their struggle continued, however, it became apparent that Maxwell would gain the upper hand, as his greater endurance prevailed. He managed to stand, pulling his opponent up with him as he did so, before hefting her onto his shoulders and throwing her against a tree; the woman's skull slammed against the ancient trunk, knocking her unconscious.

Maxwell sighed as he drew out a dagger. "I hate to have to kill someone who is not even supposed to be involved in any of this, but you have seen my face. Sorry, but maybe we will meet in the next life." And with that, he slit her throat.

* * *

"Burn you unliving bastards!" Warren shouted, blasts of holy flame flying from his arms. The mage wheeled in a circle, incinerating lines of zombies, skeletons, ghouls, crypt fiends, and other undead horrors. A single abomination continued its march forward, its skin charring as flames licked at the seams holding the creature together; pieces of its body fell off, but the creature continued its implacable march, batting a paladin out of the way as it charged towards Warren. The self-appointed Grand Inquisitor shook his head. "So foolish…" a lance of holy magic rushed from his right hand and skewered the monster through the chest, causing it to topple over.

"Sir, looks like this area is clear," Arnold stated, appearing beside Warren. The veteran continued to stare directly at the mage as he wiped caked blood off the blade of his knife. "We had best move towards the edges of camp; it appears the undead there are keeping Aurora and her personal elites at bay."

"Perfect," Warren cracked a smile, "it will be fun to see how that bitch reacts when she has no choice but to be saved by us."

* * *

Aurora had settled into a routine: as each new undead foe presented itself before her, she would swing her hammer downward and crush its skull; she would then blast the next one with holy magic, before raising her hammer to strike again, thus restarting the whole cycle. This conflict had become monotonous; Aurora did not even feel the least bit of exertion as she smashed apart foe after foe. The soldiers around her felt the same way: few of them fell to the undead while most claimed dozens of foes.

_This attack was obviously poorly coordinated or else is an accident,_ Aurora considered as she melted a skeleton with a wave of holy energy that extended from her left palm. _Even for undead these enemies are sluggish and predictable. This was probably a force that was sent to link up with another and just happened to encounter us; their commander probably initiated an attack in hopes of gaining favor with the Lich King, but based on these troops' reactions their leader either died in the early stages of the battle or is unskilled._ Aurora smirked. _Is this the best you can do, Arthas the Betrayer?_

This force of undead was large, to be sure, but numbers was all it could boast. The majority of its troops were either zombies, skeletons, or ghouls, with the occasional crypt fiend or abomination seen amongst the ranks of rotting flesh and exposed bone. There were no apparent necromancers, though a force of scouts had managed to find a duo of such dark magicians earlier; though the Scourge officers tried to flee, the arrows of the Scarlet Band had cut off their retreat and returned them to death.

Aurora heard explosions and sensed magical energy behind her, cocking her head to see Warren blasting apart a group of undead, a group of three score soldiers following behind him. This force reached Aurora within a minute, the elder mage looking stunned as he saw the paladin and her forces standing firm against the onslaught.

"Hello Warren," Aurora stated, turning away to bash in the skull of a lumbering zombie. "What is yours business here?"

"We came to aid you," Warren stammered.

"Well, we are fine at the moment," Aurora stated. "Sorry, but you will not have the pleasure of playing the hero. We have everything under control here."

_Damn you Aurora, once my plans proceed further I will deeply enjoy killing you,_ Warren thought, gritting his teeth as he fired a ball of arcane energy at a duo of crypt fiends, blasting the arachnid creatures apart.

"I had best check on the western flank then," Warren muttered, beckoning to his troops.

The mage's face twisted into anger as he stalked away; it seemed every conversation with that woman inevitably ended with him in disgust and her riding high. It was clear this battle was already over; clearing out the last few undead was a mere formality.

* * *

It had taken half an hour, but Delilah had managed to crawl to closer to the center of the Scarlet Band's camp where she was found and freed by a trio of elderly paladins. She thanked them hastily, failing to mention the reason for her shackles, before returning to her destroyed tent, grabbing her hammer and rushing off into the woods in search of her assailant.

The young paladin conjured a sphere of holy energy which hovered above her left hand, the ball giving her light in this shadowy maze of trees and briars. Delilah's right hand clenched as she gripped the haft of hammer tighter, her hatred rising. _That bastard was definitely a human. Is it not enough for us to have to fight two strains of undead? Must we try to slaughter one another? _

It was not long before Delilah came upon Gina's limp form, her body slumped against the trunk of a tree, a trail of red staining the bark and becoming invisible as it ran along her uniform. The woman's eyes were rolled back in her head and her tongue lolled out of her mouth; Delilah had to choke back a cry of terror as she saw the destroyed body. The two had not known each other well, but Delilah had heard the woman was a skilled warrior and had sworn to protect the recently appointed Marshal.

With renewed impetus, Delilah rushed deeper into the forest, following a trail of broken branches and disturbed shrubbery. _Either he was in a hurry or he wants me to follow him,_ she pondered. _It wouldn't take Captain Elric to be able to track someone moving like this…_

Several dozen yards off, Maxwell Mason sat, panting behind a shrub. He had heard Delilah's approach, partly noted by the magical sensor on his magic dampener. He had readied himself for combat, only to have the magic-cancelling device crack in his hands. _Warren did say it wasn't very resilient and wouldn't be able to take too much magical stress,_ he had considered, staring glumly at the cracked sigil atop his palm. _That must mean she's angry…and I can't exactly fight too well after all the energy I spent fighting that damned guard. _

Maxwell prayed Delilah would not find him; he only had to stay hidden until she vanished from the area, then he could make his way back to the battle lines and act as if nothing occurred. Surely, Warren could give him an alibi…

At that moment, Maxwell heard footsteps behind him. He slowed his breathing, hoping she would pass. The figure, however, continued to move towards him, pushing the brush aside; he could not run, that would only prove his guilt.

"Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?" Delilah asked gruffly. Maxwell turned himself around to face her.

"I…I…ran from the undead…" Maxwell stuttered, lying hastily. "I was on first watch when the undead attacked; I saw six of my best friends immediately decimated by the blades of an abomination. I ran, unsure what to do, and ended up here. I ran out of energy and decided to hide here." If nothing else, Maxwell had a talent for lying; he had always been able to weasel his way out of most situations, mainly by playing on the emotions of those he spoke to. Delilah's expression seemed unchanged, but at the very least she did not seem intent on harming him.

"Hm…you wouldn't happened to have seen anyone suspicious moving through here, would you?" Delilah asked.

"No…of course not," Maxwell said. "Now, please, can you help me back to camp? I…I want to make up for my cowardice and avenge my friends."

"Fine," Delilah stated, offering him her arm. Maxwell took it and stood up, dusting himself off as he did so. _The trail ends at this bush, and he has a suspicious air about him. Sadly, he's unarmed and I don't see any evidence of magical artifacts on his body anywhere. Also, making blind accusations and killing him outright would be foolhardy; I doubt he would do anything randomly: he must be part of some sort of subversive group, if he is indeed guilty of this crime. I will keep a close eye on him, and report him to Aurora when I get the chance. _

_Damn…why did I not kill her faster? _Maxwell pondered as he moved beside Delilah. The glowing orb she carried had vanished when she had helped him up, but now it danced above her palm again, the light illuminating her attractive features, the shadows dancing across her eyes and lips. Maxwell would never be able to kill Delilah in the light.

"What is your name?" Delilah asked as they marched through the trees towards the din of battle.

"Maxwell Mason," the soldier stated.

No other words passed between them as they made their way back to camp. By the time they reached the Scarlet Band lines, the undead had already been driven off.

* * *

Sonja cringed and screamed in agony as Dextra fired blasts of magic into her body. The Forsaken leader delighted in prolonging her foe's death, and purposefully missed vital organs with her attacks. The priest attempted to struggle against her foe, but her efforts were of no use as the magnified pain made her limbs weak.

All Sonja could focus on was the cackling emanating from beneath Dextra's hood, the Scarlet Crusader unable to see any of her foe's face save for the crooked nose that poked from beneath her hood. The priest wished she could at least see the face of her attacker so she could know who to rip apart in the afterlife.

Carnage surrounded Sonja, though she was totally oblivious to it. The massacre continued in short order. The majority of the Forsaken had adopted Dextra's methodology and had begun torturing their foes, making them die slowly for their amusement. Groups of Scarlet Crusaders were corralled by rings of Forsaken where they were blown apart piece by piece, praying each second for death.

Several Scarlet Crusaders had better luck and were able to take down their enemies, but their efforts were ultimately ineffective compared to the slaughter wrought by the undead.

Harold cursed as he narrowly dodged a blast of magic. Seven others followed from the same group of Forsaken and the warrior was forced to rush behind a stalagmite for defense. Gareth crouched behind the same outcropping and nodded sternly at his superior, jumping out briefly to fire an arrow before returning to his position.

"Those bastards have us pinned," Harold grunted. "I feel so…powerless."

"You aren't going to give up are you?" Gareth asked, throwing an axe into a foe's shoulder.

"Of course not," Harold stated, winking. "I'm going to die like a man. Each extra undead I take to the grave with me makes me feel slightly better."

"That's a good mentality," Adrian Loksey growled, firing two arrows before diving behind the rock. Illana was close behind him, and Harold sighed briefly as he felt the tight space becoming more cramped.

"Do you think we can win?" Illana said, her voice wavering.

"You already know the answer," Harold said glumly. "But I've already resigned myself to death. If we die here, honorably, fighting until our reserves of energy run dry, we will be heroes. We may not be remembered and we may never gain statues, but our spirits will become complete."

"A bit too philosophical for my taste," Adrian muttered, "but somehow I like it." The four soldiers, some of the few who were not in the process of being tortured to death, grinned at each other.

"Let's give them as much hell as we can before we die!" Harold roared, stepping out from the rock and pointing his sword at their foes. At that moment, the stalagmite melted, the rock destroyed by shadow magic fired by ten wizards working in unison. Harold glared at them warily, raised his shield, and readied to charge. Illana summoned her reserves of arcane energy, while Adrian and Gareth loaded their bows. All four knew this was their limit. The battle would end within minutes with victory going to the Forsaken; now it was just a matter of how many of the undead would walk out of these caves.

Suddenly, all noise seemed to decrease for but a brief moment and, in that instant, a voice that preceded the events to come echoed through the caves.

"LIGHT, GIVE ME STRENGTH!"

* * *

"Maxwell Mason eh? Never heard of him," Aurora muttered as she marched, looking directly ahead as if Delilah's words meant little to her. "Regardless, I will have some of my people look into his record." Aurora lowered her voice before continuing, "I get the feeling this is no coincidence; a decent number of my officers also died last night far from the field of battle. I'm starting to get the idea that Warren may be involved…

"Regardless," Aurora raised her voice again, "let's focus on the task at hand. We should reach Andorhal sometime tomorrow, and we will surely have another battle on our hands. For now just stay close to me; I get the feeling your potential assassin will show himself again soon enough."

"Thank you, Inquisitor," Delilah said, saluting her commanding officer before fixing her eyes on the desolate grass of the Western Plaguelands.

Across the lines of marching Scarlet Crusaders stood Grand Inquisitor Warren, attended by Arnold on his right side and Maxwell on his left. The wizard attempted to keep his expression neutral, desperately fighting at the pent up rage building inside him. His plan was moving forward: Arnold and many of his other underlings had slain their assigned targets either before or during the previous night's confusion. Warren hated to kill members of the Scarlet Crusade, but it was necessary if his plan was to succeed, and furthermore it was necessary for his machinations to come to fruition if the organization was to defeat the undead in due course.

Maxwell's failure, however, nagged at Warren's core, acting like a slug burrowing beneath is skin and spreading filth throughout his organs. How could one of his best trained fighters have trouble with such a young paladin? He had every option to slay her, why had he seemed to hesitate? The boy had even wasted a well-prepared magic dampener; did he have no sense in such complex matters?

Warren fixed his gaze on Maxwell, who lowered his eyes, shame clearly manifesting itself across his visage. It was her appearance, Warren was sure of that; young men hoped to play heroes so they could win the hearts of such maids, not kill them. It was, however, necessary for Maxwell to complete such a task to prove his aptitude and loyalty; perhaps it would be best to give him company.

Warren turned to Arnold, snickering as he formulated his plan. _If Reskin goes with the boy, he will have no choice: he will either kill Corwin or be killed by Reskin who will in turn kill Corwin. It's perfect._

"You two will come by my tent again tonight," Warren whispered to the two subordinates. "We have much to discuss."

* * *

"Come on, there's no time to waste," Arnold Reskin muttered, motioning with his dagger towards the far side of camp. The dichotomy of the New Scarlet Band had caused the force to split its camp down the center with Warren's troops on one side and Aurora's on the other. The two leaders had positioned their tents as far from one another as possible, their mutual hatred and differing opinions represented by the distance between their two tents.

Maxwell Mason nodded hesitantly as he followed the grizzled veteran, fear in his eyes as the elder's gaze pierced through his face, seeming to penetrate into his psyche and unravel his thoughts. _You are too weak to do this,_ Reskin's eyes seemed to say. _Too young, too fragile. Your doubt makes your weak._

Maxwell nodded and moved forward, following his superior. _After all Master Warren has done for me, I cannot afford to ignore his requests. I must comply,_ Maxwell thought as he and Reskin slipped behind a series of pines and past clumps of tents.

Reskin spotted Delilah, the girl stationed on watch alone. It had taken some work, but the assassin had managed to get the marshal's guards out of the way; Reskin was down three barrels of ale, but it would be worth it if the plan would succeed. Besides, an all-out conflict with the guards would have been too messy and inconspicuous.

Reskin's hunting knife flicked twice, pointing directly towards their quarry. Maxwell gulped but nodded, clutching the haft of his halberd tightly. The weapon seemed too large for a covert mission, but the soldier had more training with it and would be able to lay her low with one blow. The two moved slowly, inching their way past the tents of sleeping troops and soldiers on watch who patrolled to and fro.

_"Mason must strike the final blow," _Warren's words echoed in Reskin's mind. _"His loyalty can only be assured once he has done this for us. We must cast off desire and eliminate beauty if we are to defeat the undead; such petty concerns will only allow the Scourge to triumph."_

"Ready, boy?" Reskin muttered to Maxwell. The latter nodded incredulously, and seconds later felt Reskin's massive forearm nudging him forward. "Then go!"

Maxwell charged, his muscle memory overwhelming his mind. His gauntlets tightened around the polearm's haft as he rushed Delilah. The paladin whirled around and raised her hammer to block, but the force of Maxwell's charge knocked the weapon from her hands and bowled her to the ground. Delilah raised her leg to kick Maxwell, but he instinctively jammed the haft of his weapon into the joint between her belt and breastplate, the pressure causing her to double over in pain.

Delilah started to scream but Maxwell forced his boot onto her windpipe, causing her to choke and sputter, allow no words to come out.

Reskin emerged from his hiding place and strode beside Maxwell, bending down and producing lengths of chain Delilah to tie her hands and feet. "Good work, Mason," Reskin chuckled. "She's immobile. So, what say you finish her off and we had back for a drink, eh?"

Maxwell paused, he gazed down at Delilah's face illuminated by the unfaltering moon. She looked so frightened, so beautiful. How could he kill something so perfect? His now-deceased fiancé had always been impressed by his chivalry and kindness…what had he become?

"Agh, Warren was right," Reskin muttered. "You hesitate too much. Move aside Mason, I'll finish the job for you."

Maxwell stepped back, removing his foot from Delilah's throat as Reskin crouched and held his knife high, a villainous glint in his eyes.

Delilah gasped for air as she saw Reskin moving in for the killing blow. _Damn, it was that Mason who was the assassin after all,_ Delilah's mind raced. _I should have killed him then…what hope is there now for me? Unless…_

"Maxwell please! Do not let him kill me! I thought you were a good man!" Delilah cried out, doing her best to sound like a damsel in distress. Her gambit worked: not two seconds later, Maxwell's polearm protruded from Reskin's chest.

"You…bastard…" Reskin gasped. "To give up…on your mission…for some…wench…?" With that, Arnold Reskin, once a famed assassin of Hillsbrad and a personal friend of Warren, met his end.

Reskin's body slumped to the side as Maxwell placed his boot against the assassin's corpse and pulled his halberd free. He shouldered the weapon, bent down to untie Delilah's shackles, and lent his hand to Delilah to help her up. She smiled knowingly as he did so.

"Thank you," Delilah said, "how can I ever repay such a handsome hero?"

Maxwell blushed before regaining his composure. "No need, it's the duty of a gentleman to protect a lady."

"No, I have the perfect reward," Delilah's smile widened, turning almost sinister. She snapped her fingers and instantly eight of her guards appeared, surrounding her assailant. "Guards, this is the man who attempted to murder me last night. His name is Maxwell Mason; we are going to bring him before Inquisitor Aurora for questioning."

"Yes, Marshal Corwin!" The soldiers said in unison, advancing on Maxwell as Delilah stepped back and retrieved her hammer from the ground.

"B..but how? Why?" Maxwell stuttered, dropping his halberd in disbelief as two soldiers clapped irons on his wrists while another struck him across the face with the back of his hand in punishment.

"Oh, you mean you expected the gift of alcohol to incapacitate my guardians?" Delilah laughed. "You must realize that Ignus is from Southshore; his type can put away a barrel of ale without much effort. Even so, we expected another attempt on my life and purposefully made me appear alone. We wanted you alive, Mason; it'd be too troublesome to try to subdue you with violence as one of us might accidently kill you." Delilah chuckled victoriously. "Don't worry, though, I'm sure Inquisitor Aurora will finish you off…after you've divulged some information and plenty of torture, that is."

Maxwell's eyes widened as he was led away. It was true what Warren had said: beauty was his undoing.

* * *

"Did he talk?" Elric asked as he grabbed a piece of bread and took a bite from it.

"Of course he did, though he was awfully stubborn," Aurora stated, taking a swig of wine before continuing. "I had to break two of his ribs and put out an eye before he even began to divulge key information; my Soul Scrying ensured that he told the truth. You did well, Corwin."

"It was nothing, that bastard needed to pay," Delilah growled. _I had to succeed in his capture or risk looking too weak in front of Aurora, _Delilah thought. _If I want my revenge, I need to continue to get close to her, learn her weaknesses, and become strong enough to exploit them. _As much as Delilah hated to admit it, however, she was beginning to respect Aurora's strength more and more.

"So what exactly did you find out?" Elric questioned again.

"Nothing too unexpected, though now at least we have evidence," Aurora replied. "Warren is attempting to kill the troops that are most loyal to me so he can gain complete control over the Scarlet Band. Once he has the majority supporting him, he thinks he will be able to kill me and then move things ahead as he sees fit. Honestly, I think he's just afraid that upon reaching Tyr's Hand he will be accused of murdering Isilien to steal his title, despite their longstanding friendship."

Aurora took another gulp of wine, wiped her lips and continued. "Warren is also too cowardly to do this himself, so he has his loyal soldiers complete the assassinations. The weaklings usually carry out the killings during battle to catch us by surprise and blame the deaths on the undead. Apparently, about a dozen of our losses in the last battle can be attributed to this plan. Luckily, however, the plan is barely in motion and isn't even a tenth complete.

"Now, as much as I would like to kill Warren myself I have to admit that he is a valuable tool against the undead," Aurora stated. "It is necessary, however, to make sure this little plan of his fails. As such, we are going to need to track down his most devoted followers and bring them to our side; as much as I would love to kill them, we cannot afford to waste troops, especially as such weak cretins are necessary cannon fodder. Also, it will be a blow to Warren's pride if we can turn them to our service."

"I assume you're concocting a plan, Inquisitor?" Delilah asked.

"It's already complete; I will just need a little help..."

Character Profile: Arnold Reskin

Age: 44

Rank: High-ranking "covert operations" officer

Affiliation: Member of Warren's Faction, former member of the Scarlet Band's Coral Company, former member of the Scarlet Monastery's 14th Scout Division

Abilities: Reskin is a soldier who specializes in assassinations and thus has expert skills in stealth and tracking. He has fought for years and thus has fairly high combat experience, though he prefers surprising his foes rather than engaging them head-on. He favors knives for combat, though as a former Scarlet Scout he occasionally uses crossbows, though he is an average shot at bests and trusts his blades above all else.

Appearance: Reskin is a tall man, about six feet four inches tall. His eyes are dark brown, almost black, and his hair is burgundy though graying at the edges. He wears a red tunic and red pants that are reversible to become black, giving him added camouflage at night when most of his assassinations are carried out. Regardless of his chosen dress, he always wears a Scarlet Crusade insignia on each shoulder.

HES: And so another chapter comes to an end; the politics within the New Scarlet Band are really heating up, while Sonja's Faction continues to struggle against Glade. What will come of the turmoil experienced by the Scarlet Crusaders?

As always, thanks very much for the reviews and support, everyone! Your input is always valued! Please be sure to review this chapter as I love to get feedback! Until next time!


	12. Ouroboros

Chapter 12: Ouroboros 

"LIGHT, GIVE ME STRENGTH!" The harsh voice resonated power and a thirst for justice as it echoed through the caverns' corridors. The sound pierced through the noises of battle, the screams of the wounded and dying, the clatter of armored men and women falling to the unforgiving stone of the cavern floor.

The beleaguered Scarlet Crusaders paused briefly, wondering if it was the sound of their salvation or merely the declaration of a final, suicidal charge. The members of Glade took little notice, sure that the faith of one individual would fail to turn the tide of battle.

Illana squinted through the lines of battle, searching for the source of the sound. As a half-elf, her eyes were better in the partial light given off by the few torches carried by the Forsaken and the glow from the auras of the surviving paladins. At the rear of the Forsaken lines, Illana made out the brightness of a figure's aura; it slowly advanced, pushing through the enemy ranks and moving closer and closer to the battle's center.

Like a comet, the figure barreled forward, pushing aside and cutting down foes as he did so. His aura illuminated his body, a rippling mass of a muscles covered by sparse armor: a red helmet adorned his skull, a set of gold and crimson chainmail pants and boots adorned his lower half, while a unique rouge pauldron covered with three tooth-like metal spikes sat atop his right shoulder. His hands gripped the haft of a massive axe with an irregularly shaped blade that tapered off into three serrated points; this weapon rose and fell, chopping and hacking the Forsaken to little more than piles of limbs and organs.

"BE JUDGED AND SENT TO HELL BY MY BLADES OF LIGHT!" The figure roared, his aura intensifying as his axe became wreathed with golden trim. With each new strike, undead troops instantly decayed to dust, the purity of this figure's power too great for their accursed bodies to handle.

The Scarlet Crusaders were in disbelief, most in shock as they watched this lone hero smash apart their adversaries.

"Is this…a dream?" Harold stuttered. "No, we must not remain still." The soldier raised his left arm in the air, his hand beckoning to the other Scarlet Crusaders from behind his shield. "Forward, men and women of the Scarlet Crusade! Let us aid our savior and drive these undead bastards back! For Lordaeron! For the Crusade! For humanity!"

Exhausted and wounded Scarlet Crusaders suddenly felt a rush of energy as they redoubled their efforts against their foes. Invigorated by this miraculously appearing hero and Harold's declaration, the troops clashed with the Forsaken anew.

Dextra loosened her grip on Sonja and turned towards the newly-arrived warrior. She narrowed her eyes behind her cowl and muttered a spell before firing a blast of shadow magic at the figure. The massive wave of magic struck the figure, but he continued rushing forward, his aura dissipating all the power. Dextra gasped in disbelief and continued to attack this foe, unaware of Sonja who was casting a spell of her own.

The leader of Glade fell long before the charging warrior reached her: a blast of holy magic struck her in the back, bringing her to her knees before a mace crushed her skull. Sonja panted as she finished her grisly work, the power of the Light flowing through her.

_This man, whoever he is, gave us all a new chance for victory,_ Sonja thought, watching as he redirected his gaze from the slaughtered Dextra to the remainder of Glade, most of which were routing while a few fought on vainly. Sonja collapsed to her knees, her entire body wracked with pain and exhaustion. Moments later, an arm propped her up and healing magic coursed through her body. "Thank…you…" Sonja muttered to the nameless priest who saved her; her eyes were heavy and she could not see the one who aided her. Seconds later, Sonja passed out, a smile on her face.

By this point, it was all over for the Forsaken. The miraculous appearance of the shining soldier surprised their forces, striking them from behind and causing dozens to die before being able to react. Their forces broken, the undead's morale began to crumble. Many tried to run, but the lone axe-wielding warrior cut off their path of escape, hacking them apart piecemeal as they desperately tried to break through him. Others continued to fight the Scarlet Crusade, but their efforts were naught and within an hour all the Forsaken lay dead.

Harold roused Sonja to wakefulness, and the two approached the miracle warrior; the combatant sat alone, sharpening his axe with a stone while a pile of Forsaken corpses burned behind him.

"We are indebted to you, hero," Sonja said, approaching the man.

"It was nothing," he replied gruffly. "Regardless we have no time to rest. Begin torching the bodies as I have."

"Y..yes…" Sonja stammered. "But first…who are…?" Sonja trailed off as she came closer, gasping as she realized who the figure was. Harold came to the same conclusion at the same second, and the two instantly fell to their knees.

"Hail, Scarlet Champion Herod!" The two spoke. Instantly, dozens of other Scarlet Crusaders stopped what they were doing and followed suit, giving their respects to this hero.

"We…assumed you had died in the Monastery," Harold murmured.

"Obviously you thought wrong," Herod was curt as he rose and grabbed the haft of the axe of a slain soldier, sticking it into the pyre he had created before tossing the flaming brand into another group of Forsaken corpses. "I assume you would all like to hear my story?" Herod stated, returning to a seated position atop a stone. "Fine, it will give you all time to recuperate."

* * *

_"Come on you dogs! You really think you can defeat me?" Herod roared, bashing aside a Forsaken swordsmen with a gauntleted fist. Another fighter, this one wielding a flail, charged at the Scarlet Champion. Herod sidestepped before bringing his axe around in a wide swing to cleave the undead man's torso in half. _

_It had become habit at this point. Killing the undead was merely a process, a daily grind that was unavoidable in such a line of work. Herod's muscle memory took over, his mind barely conscious of the actions he took, of the pile of bodies that grew at his feet. _

_ They came again and again, each a copy of the last, their individuality lost to Herod. Without their humanity they had become mere tools of Sylvanas: they had freed themselves from the Lich King only to become slaves anew for a cause even more damned. With such a muscled and cold exterior, none would ever think that Herod considered such things. He roared as he cut down another soldier; was it his tenth? His hundredth? He no longer knew._

_ Herod had been too young to fight the Orcs when they had ravaged Azeroth. The Horde had fought through his homeland of Lordaeron, striking at his hometown of Southshore time and again with their fleets of Troll Destroyers and Ogre Juggernauts during the Second War. The Tirassian navy had turned back the Horde, but not without sacrifice; Herod's father had died during an Orc raid, his head crushed by a two-headed Ogre. Herod had been too young and too weak to fight, and so when the war was over he dedicated himself to the martial arts._

_ Training had not been easy, nor did Herod gain much acceptance. The other children quickly took to insulting him for straying off into the forest to climb trees and lift rocks to improve his strength. He had not taken well to these words and decided to test his newfound strength on them, quickly earning him the moniker "Herod the Bully." By the age of fourteen he was able to defeat boys twice his age in boxing matches, which only led him be further ostracized. But there was one who had seen potential in Herod: her name was Sally Whitemane. _

_ Soon, Herod began to steal farm implements to practice his skills, using these tools as makeshift weapons. Eventually, he was able to convince a guard from the Southshore watchtower to sell him a rusted sword and began using this weapon for his training. Whitemane watched Herod from afar, not so much afraid of his martial prowess as she was nervous to approach him with the offer of a friendship he might reject._

_ Eventually, Whitemane gained the confidence to speak to Herod, and the two formed an awkward friendship: Sally loved to talk, and Herod loved to fight. She would read to him about the Light while he hacked at trees with his blade; little by little the words sunk in, and soon the two friends agreed to pursue a course of study in which they could utilize the Light's powers for justice. Shortly thereafter, the two temporarily parted ways: Sally joined a priestly order while Herod joined the Lordaeron military._

_ But Fate conspired to bring them together again. _

_ The Third War tore across Azeroth, bringing all the races of the world into conflict with one another and with the dreaded Burning Legion. With the rise of the undead Scourge, the Silver Hand and the priestly orders of Lordaeron were called forth to both heal the wounded and purge the unholy. Meanwhile, the Armies of Lordaeron were stretched to the breaking point, with countless reserves called up and desperate drafts instated in hopes of containing the undead. _

_ Ultimately, both Sally Whitemane's division of priests and the 2__nd__ Army of Lordaeron, in which Herod served as a member of the heavy infantry, were drawn together during the Battle of Grace Fields. Never again were the two apart, and little by little they gained more allies, eventually learning of a man named Mograine, who both were eager to follow. _

_ Herod had found acceptance in the ranks of the Scarlet Crusade, and it was not long before he rose through the ranks, becoming known as its Champion, a position he gained by slaughtering countless hordes of undead. Herod accepted the title graciously, but he cared not for words: it was only the ultimate goal of serving the Light and purging the land of evil that guided him._

_ It could have been three years ago, or it could be the present. Regardless, Herod fought, his axe rising and falling, his fists smashing skulls, his boots cracking ribs. It mattered not when they would stop: Herod would not end his onslaught until no more came at him. He had become a beast who changed the world, having long ago sealed his destiny: he would only die when the Light deemed it so, only when his body was incapable of moving, only when the last monster he could see lay crushed upon the ground._

_ The armory had been overwhelmed. Herod was one of the few fighters who still stood, his eyes set forward through the slit in his visor, oblivious to the plight of his men. Already the marble was stained with scarlet blood, the bodies of his troops interspersed with the corpses of the Forsaken. Yet, the swarm of undead continued. A few Scarlet Crusaders had fled in fear and even managed to escape the armory, but Herod ignored their cowardice: the Light would judge them in due course. The Forsaken tore at his body, half a score of warriors covering his body every moment, pulling him slowly but surely towards the ground. Herod took blow after blow but continued fighting. As his chest became stained with blood, Herod screamed, calling on the Light one last time; at that moment a spear point pierced his chest, and he crumpled to the ground, swinging one last time with his axe as he did so to cleave a skull in half. _

_ But the Light had not forsaken nor forgotten Herod, merely delayed its gift. When the Forsaken had long left his area of the armory, and instead set about plundering its riches and securing pieces of their final plan, Herod was reinvigorated and rose to fight again. Alas, he was too late to save his beloved Monastery; the Forsaken detonated a series of explosive charges, causing the ancient building to collapse. Herod fled, stones and masonry falling around him, the Light guiding him to a safe exit. By the time he escaped the collapsing monastery, his foes were long gone; Herod swore vengeance, feeling the Light pushing him towards his goal, inexorably guiding him to the Plaguelands. _

_ Herod moved across desolate plains, past rotting trees and crumbling ruins that were once the mighty walls of Lordaeron. Now and then the forces of Sylvanas or the Lich King would assail him, and every time he cut them down without a thought, always moving directly forward. Something told him where to go, some feeling that he trusted above all else. Eventually, it led him into a cave, guiding him through the winding passages until he came upon the sight of comrades beset by the undead. The Light truly was what guided him._

* * *

"Andorhal…" Aurora let the word drop as she motioned towards the ruined city before them. The Scarlet Band took time to take in the sight of the destroyed buildings and silent streets. The place looked even more ominous than the last time they had moved through it, perhaps because their numbers had thinned and dissent ran rampant through their forces.

The plan was simple: charge through the city, breaking through the walls of Scourge troops. It would be a rush maneuver, with no time wasted on clearing out foes. The only goal was to move through the city as quickly and painlessly as possible. Casualties would be unavoidable, and Aurora believed that such a venture would purge some of the weak from their order.

Soon, a wave of crimson descended on the city as the Scarlet Crusaders pushed their way through the ranks of undead. Holy magic erupted from lines of priests and paladins who led the charge, clearing the way for the warriors who set about taking down the tougher undead who had survived the initial onslaught. They were followed by scouts, their arrows and throwing weapons picking off what few undead roamed the edges of the Scarlet Band's formation. Here and there a soldier was dragged down by a ghoul's claws or slaughtered by some other unholy beast.

Aurora led the charge, her legs whipping back and forth rapidly as she moved through the horrendously desecrated city. _Uther's Arm_ swung like a pendulum, smashing aside columns of skeletons, turning bone to dust. Occasionally, the Inquisitor would scan the area for downed Scarlet Crusaders: if they were alive and free of signs of plague infection, she would heal them using holy magic; if they were gravely injured and showed evidence of the plague of undeath, Aurora took it upon herself to finish them off and burn their body. It was a grisly task, but even the smallest stitch in the Lich King's side served to further the Scarlet Crusade's goal.

The rear of the Scarlet Band's formation faced the greatest threat from the Scourge: undead thought defeated rose again to harrow the backs of the red-clad soldiers. Abominations smashed through rows of warriors while necromancers popped out of ruined buildings to infect archers with spells of the darkest shadow.

Delilah Corwin and Elric Isana had volunteered to help defend the rear. They and dozens of other troops marched backwards, facing the rear to defend those they could. Crossbow bolts whizzed into the chests of zombies, while blades and hammers chewed through rusted armor of skeletal warriors.

After six ranks of skeletons had been put to the sword a single Lich emerged from behind a crumbling marble pillar of a former chapel. The skeletal creature glided several inches above the ground as chilled air circled his face, the very icy fabric of death harmoniously entwining itself with this undead leader.

"So…you managed to kill some of my servants…I commend you pathetic humans…" the Lich rasped. "However…you will soon join them…for I am Kurek Chillgyre…and I shall…" The Lich's speech ended abruptly as a crossbow bolt with dynamite attached to it lodged itself in the creature's skull; a second later, the explosives went off, turning the Lich's skull to dust and ending his unlife. From a distance, Elric chuckled and whirled his crossbow.

"Come now, the servants of the Lich King really do get more overconfident every day," Elric said, his face lighting up before becoming stern again as he loaded his crossbow again and fired a bolt into the chest of an approaching Abomination.

_Always the show off,_ Delilah thought, smashing her hammer into a crypt fiend's abdomen, smashing apart its chitinous exoskeleton and causing its inner fluids to spray across the desiccated soil of Andorhal. _No, but I must not think ill of him; Elric is more devoted to our cause than most of the Scarlet Band. He also is devilishly skilled…I wonder how he came to be this way…_

* * *

_"Finally you're back, what took you so long?" The old woman growled, chewing on the end of her corn cob pipe before spitting on the cabin's floor._

_ "I am sorry grandmother, game is getting harder to find," the lad replied, adjusting his glasses and slinging his quiver off his back and resting it against the log walls before placing his catch, three rabbits, on the oak table. _

_ "You're lying, Elric," the elder replied, rising from her rocking chair and walking over to him. She grabbed his right hand and inspected the palm. "Just like your father: calluses. You've been practicing archery, haven't you?"_

_ Elric paused before nodded sullenly. "I am sorry to lie, it's just that…"_

_ His grandmother shook her head. "No, I understand. You want to surpass him, don't you?" _

_ Elric wanted to nod hastily, wanted to declare that it was his dream to become the best. Though young, he had trained in marksmanship for a decade, and his skills had improved greatly. Yet, he still could not achieve his goal. It was…just beyond his range._

_ The memory swirled, faded, switching gears to move two decades into the future. Elric was in his mid thirties, his military service having been renewed time and again as he vowed to defend his homeland. Orcs, Trolls, and Gnolls had all met their end at the tips of his arrows and crossbow bolts, and time and again he was hailed for his bravery and prowess. _

_ Yet, Elric cared not for titles or rewards: he had already turned down promotion to lieutenant on numerous occasions, preferring to fight on the front lines rather than sit in a tent and plan strategy. He had trained too long and practiced too hard to waste his skills. His diminished eyesight was reason enough for pause, and with each passing year Elric feared his vision would grow too poor to allow him to continue in a sniper's line of work, yet the gods saw fit to bless Elric and rather than falter he set new records for range each year with his skills among Lordaeron's 33__rd__ Corps of Snipers. _

_ The Scourge arrived and Elric continued his service, having to adjust his shots to account for lack of enemy organs; regardless, hundreds of new bodies fell, yet the tide seemed unending. He was even forced to put several of his comrades to death after they consumed poisoned grain, a necessary evil; the brave soldiers of Lordaeron accepted this decision, knowing it was best for the future. _

_ Elric and his platoon became cut off from their central army during the Battle of Cyclone Marsh, eventually finding a small fortress where they holed up for sixteen months. Here they fought a desperate defense, staving off the few undead that wandered their way; the Lich King knew the men would die of starvation eventually, and so committed few troops who served more to reduce morale and waste the men's energy. _

_ In the end, the few stores of bread and cheese the men had ran dry. Most would sit still and accept their fate, but Elric left the safety of the fortress to forage and hunt, fighting through several groups of ghouls as he did so. Elric traveled for five days and found no food, but he found something better: a party of Scarlet Riders. Elric told them of his comrades' plight, and they hastened back to their position. Alas, upon arrival, they found most of the men had died of starvation and been reanimated: Elric and the Scarlet Crusaders set about the grisly task of killing these new slaves of Icecrown. With nothing left and nowhere else to go, the sniper pledged his service to the Scarlet Crusade. _

_ Since then, his bolts had continued to whizz, his bow had remained taught, his eyes stayed keen. Elric pledged body and soul to the Crusade, following every order word for word, once again declining promotions in favor of staying in the fight on the frontlines. Yet, Elric had not remained static: his skills had grown, and his heart had changed._

* * *

"Fucking great," Aurora spat. The casualty count from Andorhal had just come in: over a hundred troops were confirmed dead, with another hundred and fifty wounded and roughly eighty missing. Worse still, the majority of the dead were from Aurora's constituents. This loss was not expected, and the Inquisitor's anger fumed expressing her disgust by kicking a skull into the side of a tree, causing the bone to crack and shatter into shards.

The Scarlet Band now numbered roughly eight hundred soldiers, with only three quarters in good condition for fighting. Aurora and Warren could agree on one thing, however: the Scarlet Band could not tarry, and both ordered the troops to continue their march, telling the surgeons and priests to conduct their healing on the move.

Morale began to run ragged at the edges of the Scarlet Band, and words of desertion and mutiny were discussed in hushed tones and whispers through the ranks. As the troops came to the border of the Eastern Plaguelands, such words reached Aurora's ears, and Marshal Delilah Corwin took it upon herself to punish the dissenters. Those that had spoke of rebellion silenced themselves and were shown the error of the ways before the point of a sword, rededicating themselves to the cause rather than risk death.

Delilah felt no guilt for these witch hunts: she had long ago decided to further the goal of purging the undead by any means necessary. Her resolve had strengthened upon Baelin's death. She still thought about him, but forced herself to bury such unnecessary dreams: Baelin was no more, and no amount of wishing could change that. Delilah's actions brought her closer to Aurora, and as their mutual respect grew, Delilah began to think she understood the Inquisitor's viewpoint, and even began to realize they had mutual goals. Delilah, however, refused to let herself forgive Aurora; she still resolved to duel the Inquisitor once this march was over, and had sworn to win. She had already watched Aurora's actions in battle, studied her techniques, and even attempted to train late at night in hopes of victory.

Delilah knew she was at a disadvantage: Aurora possessed greater strength, speed, and magical skill. The Inquisitor possessed a mighty aura and the rare power of Soul Scrying which, perhaps, had some practical application to combat. Even with the odds against her, Delilah continued to hold onto her dream: she _would _avenge Baelin.

Yet, something held Delilah back at the times when she thought of her desired challenge. Aurora was strong, and that strength may even be necessary to defeat the Lich King. _Perhaps it would be best to wait until the Scarlet Crusade purged all of Lordaeron before fighting Aurora?_ Delilah pushed this thought from her mind and renewed her resolve as she had thousands of times. _No, the longer I wait the greater the chance of my own death in battle. If I die before reaching Tyr's Hand then it was the Light's plan that I fall. If not, perhaps it is my destiny to kill Aurora and complete my vengeance. _

* * *

"No time to dawdle," Herod grunted, motioning for Sonja and her adherents to follow him. It seemed he too knew these caverns, or at the very least was guided by something to find the correct path. Sonja could tell his movements were valid, but even if they were not she dared not contradict him. Herod gave off an intense pressure, as if the intent to slaughter undead constantly hung around him and polluted the very land his feet touched.

Herod was somewhat of a legend among the Scarlet Crusade. Scores of stories recounted his glorious exploits, each one more outlandish than the last. In the past, Sonja had doubted that most of them were true, but after witnessing his heroic entrance and destruction of Glade the priest began to believe them. She even thought that, perhaps, Herod was more than a man; he seemed the embodiment of the perfect soldier of the Scarlet Crusade: strong, ruthless, and with no other desire than to slaughter the undead and their allies.

Few spoke as the Scarlet Crusaders marched through the ancient caverns of northeastern Lordaeron. All were stunned they were still alive, having accepted their inevitable death hours ago when Glade had appeared. Now it all seemed like a dream: the undead were but ash moldering on the cave floor, while the humans had survived and could move closer to their goal.

Sonja was unsure how to approach Herod to thank him for his aid. The dour man marched solemnly, seemingly unfeeling and unaware of those around him. Had he saved them out of compassion or was he merely carrying out his duty to slaughter the undead?

Sonja spent the hours marching through the cave studied Herod's movements, thinking of something to say, yet her lips remained closed, her mind conflicted. He gave off an aura of intensity, the pressure overwhelming the Scarlet Crusaders around him; none dared speak, for fear of upsetting this barbaric champion.

Adrian, Illana, and Gareth marched together in the center of the formation, exchanging whispers now and then. All were still in awe of Herod, amazed that this angel of victory had graced their seemingly hopeless battle. It seemed unreal, as if something out of a legend. Yet, all of them now new first-hand that such tales could be fact.

"With Herod here I feel more hopeful," Adrian muttered. "He's so powerful…with him alone we should be able to push through any foes we face in the Eastern Plaguelands."

"Yes, he's certainly impressive," Illana whispered. "I'd heard stories of his exploits and seen him from afar in the Monastery, but this is the first time I've ever seen him fight. He's almost like a personification of power."

"I guess the Light must really be on our side," Gareth stated. "I'm feeling more confident in our goal than ever."

"I'm glad all you young'uns are confident, but we cannot afford to let our guard down or become cocky," the stern voice of Harold stated, moving towards the trio.

"S…sorry sir," Gareth stuttered.

"No need to apologize," Harold replied, turning away. "Anyhow, I'd best see how Captain Sonja is fairing and speak with Champion Herod." As the soldier turned away, his cape flapping, he shook his head. _Alas, I fear the most difficult and violent part of our journey is still to come. I doubt the majority of us will be alive to see next spring…_

* * *

"There," Warren pointed forward with his gnarled staff, indicating the even more barren and lifeless land before them. In the distance, specks circled back and forth, their forms swaying unnaturally in the light of the setting sun. "We finally have the border of the Eastern Plaguelands in sight."

The soldiers of the Scarlet Band were silent, offering no response to the mage's speech. All that stood behind Warren and Aurora had long since abandoned any fear or regret. They had given themselves, body and soul, to the cause of Lordaeron's Purification. Walking the thin edge between life and death, and seeing firsthand the desecration of their homeland, had hardened the hearts of these warriors. Who would die? Who would live? Who would be remembered in the annals of history as great heroes? Who would become nameless in the face of time's indomitable march?

"We will not press on until tomorrow," Aurora stated harshly. "The borders of the Eastern Plaguelands are strong enough without the coming moonless night."

"For once I agree with you," Warren stated, his voice without its usual coldness when addressing the female Inquisitor. "Though tonight we should double our watch; this close to the enemy's major strongholds we cannot afford to take any chances."

"Indeed," Aurora was curt, making sure not to become too friendly with the wizard even if the two saw eye to eye on the issues at hand. The two leaders needed to do little more than wave their hands before the troops set about setting up camp; this habitual activity had become as normal and second nature for the Scarlet Band as breathing or walking.

One by one, tents rose, the sea of canvas soon engulfing the rotting grass of former Lordaeron. Many would try to sleep this night, but most had dreams of death and murder, of the battle they would surely face the coming morning. Prayers were uttered and swords were sharpened, as the men and women of the Scarlet Band prepared once again for combat.

Yet, what was one more battle? After all the trials they had faced, would this conflict be any more difficult? Some would live, and some would die. Victory or defeat…did it even have a purpose anymore? Most of the soldiers had long forgotten the cause of Lordaeron's purification and instead saw each battle as merely a trial that stood in the way of their survival. Life and death were all that mattered, success was measured by awakening the next morning as one of the living.

There were others, however, who burned with righteous fury, warriors like Delilah Corwin who were motivated by hatred and revenge. These figures, rather than moving to speak with others of their fear, stayed alone in their tents, hardening their hearts and fixing their eyes on the goal ahead.

_Tomorrow, I'll show the undead my power once again,_ Delilah thought as she sat in her tent, adjusting the haft of her warhammer as nightfall neared. _The Scourge will come to know me and fear my approach. Aurora will also see that my strength has grown, and may even come to acknowledge my power. I am still too weak to take her head, but I shall close the gap between our power with each battle and continue to analyze her fighting style from afar. When the day of our duel comes, I shall surely be victorious._

Without another thought, Delilah Corwin fell into a deep sleep, her dreams swirling with images of undead disintegrating under a wave of righteous energy.

* * *

_A single tall spire rose above the plains surrounding the Alterac mountains, its mauve spire piercing the heavens and serving as a beacon to all around it. _

_A conclave of violet robed figures stood side by side in a room in one of the tower's lower levels. They were all bickering, each raising his voice higher in an attempt to be heard over the others, though this action was ultimately futile._

"_A full undead army? Preposterous, at best they are remnants of Gul'dan's pitiful experiments!"_

"_Can we ignore this threat when villages have already fallen?"_

"_Loss of life or not, Dalaran MUST remain neutral!"_

"_How can we just ignore Lordaeron? That nation has always been a steadfast ally and many of our mages here came from that nation!"_

_One wizard stood silent as the others bickered, sighing heavily as he left the room. He had long since realized that Dalaran would act far too late and ultimately be torn apart during this conflict. Thus, he had decided to head north and join and army that had hopes of eradicating this menace before it spread too far._

"_You seem distraught, Warren," a cold, creaking voice addressed the man._

"_Master Antonidas…" Warren muttered, hesitating a second before falling to his knees in a gesture of respect for the leader of the Violet Council._

"_Rumor has it that you support the faction that seeks to openly fight the undead," Antonidas continued, his tone haughty. "Surely you already know that I sent my apprentice Jaina to investigate these claims and report back to us with any useful information."_

"_If it is not to bold, lord," Warren stated, rising, "I believe that the longer we wait, the worse this plague will grow. This is not merely an isolated incident or a small battalion; an army of undead is surely rising in the north. And…" Warren paused, taking a deep breath. "I have decided to resign from my post in Dalaran and commit myself to helping the Silver Hand fight against the undead."_

"_Surely you cannot be serious," Antonidas spat back. "To give up your position here you sacrifice rank and the legacy of your family."_

"_I believe saving humanity comes before fulfilling tradition," Warren snarled, turning and leaving the room, his plum coat fluttering behind him. Before he left the entryway to the room, he unclasped his cloak, a symbol of his station and allegiance to Dalaran, and flung it to the floor. _

* * *

"Master Warren! Wake up, dawn has come!" Ellen Harmonia, one of Warren's apprentices, bellowed as she stuck her head through a flap in his tent.

"Eh…thanks for the wake-up call, but try not to be so loud next time," the older man muttered, letting out a long breath as he shooed her away with one hand. "I need to dress; this is no place for a lass."

Ellen nodded swiftly and rushed out to continue her duty of rousing other members of Warren's faction. After Reskin and Maxwell's disappearance, it had fallen to Ellen to serve as Warren's right-hand. Ellen's parents had been close friends of Warren during the Third War, and after their death at the hands of the Scourge Warren had decided to raise the girl. Though only fourteen, she was already a skilled mage, some would say a prodigy. People always said it was lucky she had magical aptitude, for never was a plainer face seen than on Ellen Harmonia.

* * *

"So what did you end up doing with the captive?" Delilah Corwin asked her superior, Inquisitor Aurora Cronos, as the two rallied troops for the day's assault.

"As you'd expect, he died not long after the torture. Few men could put up with that kind of punishment and come out alive," Aurora stated coldly. "As for his body, I threw it into the forest; based on our marching patterns, someone would have to backtrack several miles to find it, which would look suspicious enough as is."

"I see…" Delilah replied. "Now, Inquisitor, I recall you mentioned a plan yesterday to convert Warren's followers to our side…"

"Hush," Aurora's stern index finger jabbed itself before Delilah's nose as the older women lowered her tone. "We shall speak more of this tonight. For now, just focus on the battle ahead. I've gotten tired of saying this, but it will no doubt be our most difficult. Then again, threes conflicts will just continue to escalate in scale and the power of our foe the deeper into the Scourge's territory we press. Now, go and see that the paladin corps is ready; they will be our most useful weapon in this fight."

"Yes, m'am," Delilah stated, saluting, before jogging off towards the center of camp. _Aurora has such fierce determination…how will I find the strength let alone the drive to kill such a woman?_

* * *

Pain: it coursed through every inch of his body, threatening to overwhelm his very soul.

Had he truly died? No, that was impossible; if it were so, his body would not be wracked with this endless agony.

Yet, what did death truly feel like? Could he be sure that there was no feeling of intense torture beyond the grave?

But he was conscious…yet immobile. He could not have become a spirit; he felt his corporeal body beneath him, the rough earth rubbing against rips in his tunic, the wind blowing through what was left of his hair.

He could not stand, or was it that he would not stand? Was there any drive to move forward? He had failed his mission, he knew. But what mission had that been? It felt like another lifetime. Perhaps he had lain here long enough to gain a new lifetime; had he been here for eons?

"Pathetic."

A voice rang against his eardrums, and he fought to know who it was. He desperately tried to use his arms to push himself up, but he was unable. His head, too, refused to respond, slumping worthlessly on the ground.

"Do you have a name, corpse?"

The voice echoed again, ringing through his entire brain.

"Maxwell…" his mouth moved almost of its own accord, as if his body so desperately wanted to be sustained that it was acting independently of him.

"Fine," the figure's voice became louder, and Maxwell assumed he was moving closer. "What do you want Maxwell? A second chance?"

"Y…yes, I want to live…I want to be free of pain…" Maxwell grumbled.

"Haha, my master can easily give that to you. Would you accept a new life in exchange for service?"

"Of course!" Maxwell's mouth moved again of its own accord.

"Come then, I shall induct you," the figure grabbed Maxwell and lifted him onto its shoulders, dragging him out of the ditch and walking off into the trees. "There is much for you to see and do."

Character Profile: Herod

Age: 25

Rank: Scarlet Champion

Affiliation: Head of the Scarlet Monastery's Armory

Abilities: Herod is an intensely strong warrior who is skilled with almost every type of melee weapon, though he prefers great axes above all others. Herod posses an incredibly high endurance and is able to fight for hours without seeming to tire; in his youth, he was seen as a military prodigy.

Appearance: Herod is a tall man, standing at a height of six feet six inches, almost as tall as some High Elves. His eyes are dark green, but the remainder of his facial features remain a mystery as he only takes off his helmet when he is alone. Herod wears a massive red spiked shoulder plate on his right shoulder, has a bare chest, wears chainmail pants, and bright red boots. His face is covered by a massive red helmet with two horns on either side.

HES: Hey everyone, sorry it took me so long to update but I've had a lot of work this semester! I actually started this chapter three months ago and got fairly far, but didn't have time to finish it until recently. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and I'll post the next chapter soon!

As I always, please leave a review if you can; I always enjoy hearing from fans and take all the feedback I get into account!


	13. Creed

Chapter 13: Creed

"Mage corps, form up on the left! Infantry, raise shields and advance down the center! Archers, hold your fire until the Scourge forces come within range!" Inquisitor Aurora's voice boomed over the battlefield as the Scarlet Band advanced into the Eastern Plaguelands.

Delilah Corwin stood in the midst of the paladin corps, her hands clenching ever tighter around the haft of her warhammer. Her feet pulled her forward inexorably, towards the mass of Scourge troops shambling before her.

These undead soldiers already looked deadlier than the foes they had fought in months past: it was as if the forces of the Eastern Plaguelands' strength reinforced the vile reputation of this most impure of Lordaeron's former lands. Already, the soldiers of the Scarlet Band were having greater difficulty against these foes, and it seemed to take greater effort to fell even the lowliest of Scourge minions in this accursed region.

It was here in the Eastern Plaguelands that the plague had first started to spread in earnest, wiping out towns like Darrowshire despite valiant resistance efforts by the local populace. The Silver Hand and other Alliance armies had attempted to stem the tide of the Scourge, but with each battle their casualties added to the forces of their undead opponents. Eventually, the leaders of the Alliance agreed this land needed to be forsaken, favoring preservation of armies and resources over what they saw as a suicide mission.

But one man did not give up hope: General Abbendis, a former member of the Silver Hand, rallied what troops he could and set about eradicating any undead he set upon. His task was scoffed at as futile by some, but more and more flocked to his side as word of his cause spread, and soon enough the Scarlet Crusade was born.

Few in the Scarlet Band had ever met Abbendis or had even seen him, but his dream was still alive and fiery in their hearts. Delilah thought of his message as she brought her hammer around in a deadly arc, smashing the skulls of three zombies. She rammed her shoulder into the chest of an approaching skeleton before delivering a roundhouse kick to the side of his head, sending the stack of bones plunging into the soil. Delilah smiled: this was bliss.

Aurora roared as she raised her aura, instantly causing a small battalion of crypt fiends around her to disintegrate into dust. Other undead in the area shied back, making easy targets for Scarlet Crusaders arrayed around Aurora. Meanwhile, the Inquisitor drew her greatsword and leaped into the fray, hacking apart a necromancer as he attempted to resurrect some fallen Scarlet Crusaders as his underlings. "You shan't defile our cause, bastard!" Aurora growled as she twisted her blade in his chest.

A bass groaning pricked Aurora's attention and she looked forward to see a massive abomination smashing through lines of Scarlet Crusaders. Here and there a spear or arrow pierced its rotting flesh, only to have the attacker sliced apart by one of the cleavers clutched in the monster's many appendages. Pus oozed from the plethora of wounds across the creature's body, some caused recently while others seemed to have been carried its whole life. Even for a monstrosity of this type this beast was grotesque.

Aurora gritted her teeth. _Looks like I've got my work cut out for me…_ Aurora hefted her greatsword over her right shoulder and charged forward, the Scarlet Crusaders before her parting to make way for their leader.

The abomination seemed nonplussed as Aurora charged towards it; the monster simply tilted its head back and forth and swung its cleaver towards the woman. Aurora leaped in the air as the massive metallic blade slammed into the earth, avoiding the blow with amazing dexterity. The Inquisitor raised her sword and plunged it into the abomination's chest. The beast groaned momentarily before it began to fall backwards. Aurora ripped her weapon out of the monster's body and jumped back, allowing the creature to fall atop a group of ghouls, crushing them.

A cheer went out from the Scarlet Band as they witnessed this feat of strength: Aurora truly seemed like some sort of hero of legend. With renewed determination, the soldiers charged forward, redoubling their efforts against the undead.

Aurora panted, lowering her sword to the ground and letting go of its leather bound handle with her left hand, which she subsequently ran through her streaming raven hair. _Damn, I really must have been pushing myself to my limits these past few days,_ Aurora considered. _This battle is nearly over anyway…this was almost too easy…_

A sixth sense seemed to alert Aurora and she jumped back, dragging her greatsword along the ground as she did so, the tip carving a line into the cracking soil.

"You humans really _do _continue to amaze me," a sinister voice stated, its cadence liked that of rusted nails scraping against the walls of a crumbling granite structure.

"Yes, but you cannot take them too seriously," another replied, just as hideous sounding as the first. Most Scarlet Crusaders ignored these noises and continued fighting against the lesser Scourge troops, unaware of the monstrosities that had arrived.

Aurora cocked her head left and right, searching desperately for the source of the speech. She sensed a malicious aura, a killing intent greater than perhaps any she had ever felt; the Soul Scrying she projected seemed to forewarn her of this massive evil, but she could not seem to pinpoint its exact source among the seas of undead.

"Inquisitor, duck!" Delilah Corwin cried, racing towards her leader. The Marshal panted, her eyes widening in shock as she saw the villains approaching Aurora.

Aurora dropped to her knees and rolled forward, barely avoiding a halberd blade that came within a hair's breadth of her throat.

"Damn, such a pity," the first voice growled. Aurora spun around and rose to her feet just as Delilah rushed to stand at her side. The two of them gasped at the monsters standing before them…

Daylight greeted Captain Sonja and her adherents as they finally exited the catacombs connecting the Western and Eastern Plaguelands. Never in her life had the priest been so happy for the sun's light, and she even halted their march briefly so she could thank the Light for their survival. The journey through the caverns had been fraught with perils, and nearly a third of their already miniscule number lay dead in the caves.

Despite these losses, morale had never been higher. The arrival of Champion Herod had given the beleaguered soldiers much needed inspiration; with a living legend marching alongside them, these men and women found hope and peace.

After their exit from the caves, Sonja thanked everyone for their efforts and suggested a day of rest to make up for the trials they had suffered in the past several days. _If we are exhausted, we will not fight well,_ Sonja thought. _And besides, I need to speak to Herod. I'm not exactly sure what his goal is…if any._

While most of Sonja's faction took time to rest their legs and converse with one another, Herod sat alone on a small boulder, sharpening his axe with a whetstone he had kept in a pouch at his hip. His helmet still rested on his head, his eyes fixed on the sparks that danced with each stroke of his sharpening stone.

Sonja strolled slowly towards the Scarlet Champion, fighting against her body's natural instinct to shiver in the presence of such a powerful and intimidating individual. She studied his body as she moved ever closer. She had not noticed in the murky depths beneath the mountains of northern Lordaeron but now she could clearly see something that made her gasp: Herod's massive and impressive muscles were covered with thousand of cuts and scars.

_Damn…he really has been through a lot,_ Sonja considered. _But he must be truly powerful to survive through such hardship…no wonder he was chosen as Champion and leader of the Monastery's Armory._

"Morning Herod…" Sonja muttered she stood behind the burly warrior. He seemed to take no notice of her and continued his sharpening routine. She cleared her throat and raised her voice. "I must thank you again for…"

"It's not necessary," Herod growled. "Now, leave me be until we are ready to move out. I assume we shall head north to Stratholme."

The word was enough to give Sonja pause. "B…but sir Herod, we are heading towards Tyr's Hand…" She stuttered.

"Feh, preposterous," Herod replied, his eyes not straying from his handiwork. "We must report to Lord Dathrohan: he needs all the troops he can get to fight against the Scourge in that city."

"No, our mission is and always has been to reinforce Tyr's hand and tell them of the Monastery's fall!" Sonja snapped, not realizing she had raised her voice.

Herod turned and stood, towering over the woman. "Do you dare contradict _me_, a superior officer?" His eyes narrowed beneath his visor and for a moment Sonja's heart filled with fear until an idea shot through her brain like a bolt of lightning.

"We were given this order by Inquisitor Whitemane herself."

Herod paused and took a step back before turning away from Sonja and seating himself on the rock once more. "Fine then, as you wish…" He muttered. _Whitemane…I owe you too much even after your death for me to ever disobey your wishes…But there is something I must investigate about Dathrohan and I cannot go alone. Perhaps in Tyr's Hand I can convince some others to follow me…_

"Thank you for understanding, Sir Herod," Sonja said, bowing as she turned away. "Well, I must go figure out the watch schedule for this afternoon and evening. Be well; until tomorrow." As Sonja walked away the only noise she heard was the scrape of whetstone against steel.

"We're lucky to be alive," Gareth stated as he chewed on a piece of fungus recovered from the caves.

"You can say that again," Adrian replied, nibbling a bit on his own mushroom before contorting his face. "Blackhand's Breath this tastes terrible! How can you stand to eat this stuff?"

"Look at the little prince, being so picky in a time like this," Gareth chuckled. "I'll eat your share if you don't want it; just keep your complaints to yourself when you don't have enough energy to outrun a zombie!"

"No, I'll choke this shit down just so you cannot get fatter; I'm doing you a favor!" Adrian answered, swallowing the grayish-green pseudo-vegetable as his sentence finished.

Illana chuckled as these two continued their exchange of insults. She was surprised: even after everything they had been through, it was still possible to laugh. It was during brief moments like this that the half-elf was able to forget the horrors that the Scarlet Crusade, and even she herself, had suffered over the last few years.

Adrian shut his mouth and turned away from Gareth, his eyes drawn to Illana as her laughter fell like drops of rain across a parched patch of desert scrub. His eyes stuck to her features, scanning every inch of her beauteous face: she had even started to stroke back her luscious burgundy hair, exposing her pointed ears that rather than being an oddity gave her an otherworldly charm.

_I won't ever see Delilah again,_ Adrian reassured himself. _And even if I did…what of it? She would never have a man like me. But with Illana is there even any hope…? No, I must remain confident: when we reach Tyr's Hand I will tell her how I feel, and maybe by then she will have come to care for me._

"I guess that _was _a poison mushroom!" Gareth guffawed, waving his palm in front of Adrian's eyes. "Or rather you're fantasizing about Lord Herod again!"

"Shut your mouth!" Adrian growled turning to Gareth and tackling him. "Even if I'm poisoned, I still have the strength to take you down!" The two rolled across the soil, grappling with each other as they went.

Harold walked up, a smile crossing his face as he watched the play-fight unfold. "Those lads…it's a shame they had to be born into such an era…"

"Gah, how could I miss?" The first figure sighed, teetering slightly back and forth as it waved its halberd to and fro, nonchalantly beheading an unwary mage.

"Honestly, you cannot blame me, I was pouring at least sixty percent of my energy into you," the second replied. "Anyway, it is no use complaining; we just need to finish off these rebels. I'm surprised: for all the damage they have caused it took forever for word of them to reach High Command."

Delilah and Aurora took a few moments to study their talkative foes. The first was a scarecrow-like undead figure; his limbs were spindly and his body was covered with what looked like the armor of a Death Knight, but the energy he gave off was far weaker than Tyrick. This figure's movements made a mockery of a human body, his joints moving in nigh impossible ways that only made his appearance more frightful. The second figure appeared to be a necromancer, the aging individual sporting a three foot long graybeard that, as a result of his hunched posture, reached his feet. It seemed the dark wizard had difficulty standing, for he made a great effort to support himself with his skull tipped mahogany staff.

"Is that a Death Knight?" Delilah whispered to her superior.

"No, dear girl, I'm more of a puppet than anything," the first figure sighed, shrugging his shoulders. "The armor looks fancy, no?"

"Uh…always the one to converse with the enemy," the Necromancer sighed. "Can we just get this over with? It's tiring casting AND supporting the spirit chaining."

"Sorry…_sir_!" The scarecrow-like warrior chuckled, bowing in the necromancer's general direction before flipping through the air and swinging his halberd wildly towards Aurora. The Inquisitor raised her sword to block the blow, but a quarter of a second later she felt a jab of pain in her lower stomach, alerting her to pull back before her foe's blade penetrated further.

_Damn…he's fast…_Aurora thought, sheathing her sword and drawing _Uther's Arm_ in a swift switching motion. She dodged another halberd blow, watching as her thin foe's blade stuck in the ground before her. Aurora swung her maul towards the Scourge soldier, but he flung his body backwards, the limbs contorting wildly as he moved away from each of her strokes.

As the scarecrow twisted backwards, his body suddenly shot forward momentarily as Delilah Corwin slammed her own hammer into his back, pushing him in Aurora's general direction. Sadly, this was the only strike to make contact, as he dodged the next flurry of attacks emanating from both paladins.

"Damn, I suppose even if I'm limber I cannot avoid everything!" The scarecrow chuckled, swinging his halberd, purposefully missing so that he could cleave a Scarlet Scout in half, causing the blood to spatter on both Aurora and Delilah. "Oh, so sorry, ladies!"

"Shut the fuck up you insane bastard!" Delilah roared, swinging at him with all her might, only to have the creature dodge again and again before slamming the haft of his weapon into her throat. Delilah moaned and fell to the ground; even with the Devotion Aura she had been practicing, the force of the attack still sent her flying back a dozen and a half feet. Delilah pushed herself up immediately and smashed aside a Ghoul before rushing at this new foe once again. _He will NOT get the best of me!_

As Delilah swung her maul with greater fury, she was once again unsuccessful as her lithe opponent twirled out of the way. As he did, she squinted her eyes and noticed something she had overlooked before: it seemed there was a thin, black strand of aethritic energy extending from the scarecrow-like warrior's back and reaching all the way to the tip of the necromancer's staff. The necromancer, in turn, was busy focusing, chanting softly as his eyes shone with a sinister green light.

"Aurora! I think the necromancer is controlling this monster!" Delilah called out, wheeling away from the dancing halberd.

"No shit, Corwin," Aurora growled, shooting a blast of holy magic towards the wheeling warrior, only to have the crafty Scourge soldier dodge the attack. "It is clear that the necromancer is at the very least supporting this individual and is probably influencing his lightning-like reflexes."

"Then let's target the necromancer!" Delilah muttered, rushing away from a kick that the scarecrow soldier threw towards her side.

_Obviously she has not been paying full attention,_ Aurora thought as she raced out of the way of another flurry of attacks. _I have been trying to get past this foe, but each time I head for the necromancer, this dark-armored warrior blocks my path. This is obviously a combat strategy these two have rehearsed many times: the necromancer ensures the warrior can dodge and has greater power while the warrior prevents foes from reaching the necromancer. And there is probably another advantage to this fighting style as well…Shit, where's Elric when we need him? _

While Aurora dodged and attempted to parry her foe's strokes, Delilah rushed to where a group of six Scarlet Warriors had just defeated a swarm of Crypt Fiends.

"Martshal Corwin!" One of the soldiers saluted. "This area seems secure, what are your orders?"

Delilah cracked a small smile: this could lead to their victory.

"There!" Delilah indicated, pointing towards the necromancer who controlled the monster that continued to test Aurora. "Kill that necromancer!"

"By your command!" They saluted, and rushed off towards the dark mage.

_All of them may die, but at least they will draw our foe's concentration,_ Delilah thought. _Sacrifices must be made…_

The soldiers rushed up the small rise on which the necromancer stood. Initially, it seemed the magician was oblivious to this assault, his energy and concentration focused on supporting the cavorting warrior.

The six Scarlet Crusaders reached their target, their weapons raised high as they swung towards him. Delilah was about to turn away and focus her attention on taking out the warrior that was giving Aurora pause when a bright light drew her attention. Delilah blinked her eyes against this flash, her skull aching as this eruption of power came into her sight.

Delilah whipped her eyelids furiously back and forth and fought to see the source of the light, but she was sure she already knew. Moments later, when her sight returned, Delilah gasped: the necromancer's concentration remained unbroken, and more than ten feet away from him lay six corpses, their lifeless forms sporting charred remnants of Scarlet Crusade raiment, their skin mostly stripped away leaving them as little more than naked skeletons.

"A valiant effort," muttered the necromancer, his gaze shifting towards Delilah. Sensing something amiss and fighting against her fear, Delilah tucked her knees against her chest and rolled forward, feeling a magical heat graze her back as she narrowly avoided a blast of magic hurled by the necromancer.

"Really now, did you honestly think you pathetic humans could finish off my comrade so easily?" the scarecrow-esque warrior chortled as his halberd blade bit into Aurora's shoulder. The Inquisitor, tired of stepping back, adopted a new strategy and stepped into the blow, her foe's weapon digging deeper as she herself rammed her shoulder into the dancing cadaver.

With his attention temporarily drawn to Delilah, the necromancer was unable to aid his partner. Aurora's tackle hit the thin Scourge soldier full force, the power of her aura and her strong lower body adding to the blow's might.

Aurora drove her body further forward, tilting it down slightly to force her adversary to the ground. With his weapon buried in her shoulder, the creature was stuck, and moments later he felt the full weight of Aurora's armored body crushing him as they hit the soil together.

Aurora wasted no time: the paladin pushed herself up, knelt over her foe, and hammered his helmet with _Uther's Arm._ The helmet smashed to bits under the force of the blow, its shards of rusted steel biting into the pale, emaciated, zombie-like face below.

Seeing her foe immobile, Aurora stood and spat on his lifeless form. "Feh, how dare you challenge me. I wish the Lich King would send actual Death Knights and finally take me seriously; this wretch was not half as deadly as that scoundrel Tyrick."

Aurora set her sights on the necromancer's position. The wizard continued to hurl bolts of shadow energy towards Delilah, who narrowly dodged them. For a moment, Aurora considered rushing over to aid her underling, but shook her head and turned away. _This is her test; if she wishes to be strong, I cannot always save her._

Meanwhile, Delilah was struggling against the necromancer. She had managed to almost strike him moments before, when momentarily it seemed as if his concentration was altered, but the wizard had raised a magical barrier to deflect her blow. No matter what Delilah tried, it seemed she was forced on the defensive: it was necessary to concentrate on avoiding his attacks or at the very least allowing them to graze her to minimize the damage she received.

The necromancer seemed nonplussed, almost lazy as he fought Delilah. He threw blasts of magic, yawning all the while. He seemed to be toying with Delilah, chuckling as attacks that missed her slaughtered other Scarlet Crusaders fighting in far off portions of the battlefield.

Delilah cursed and gritted her teeth as a sliver of magic grazed her right temple leaving a shallow gash that began to bleed. Slowly but surely, blood began to trickle into her right eye, obstructing the young paladin's vision.

Delilah felt a force like a flaming fist striking her in the gut, her lungs expelling all of their charge as the paladin stumbled backward, barely able to remain standing. The necromancer chuckled slightly, his voice like crackling flames.

"It seems one of your friends cut down my partner a little while ago," the necromancer stated. "It is of little matter; once I dispatch you, I'll resurrect the poor fool."

The Scourge mage hobbled towards Delilah, his voice chanting a string of magical tones, wheels of aether twirling around his entire form. Delilah ignored his approach and charged forward raising her trusted hammer, aiming for the wrinkled skin of the necromancer's bony visage.

Yet, Delilah could not close the distance fast enough: while she was still four steps from her target, the necromancer extended his staff and released his spell, a massive wave of black flame rushing towards the unlucky paladin.

There was no time to dodge, and Delilah screamed as it seemed the moment for her life to end.

Yet, the flame dissipated inches from Delilah's body, the dark magic turning to nothing. The necromancer fearfully looked back and forth at his hands, before scanning the battlefield wildly.

"What in the Lich King's name has gone on? You could not have charms or auras to fully cancel out a spell of that magnitude!" The necromancer cursed, saliva flying from his greasy lips as his eyes lit up with wrath.

"You think _that_ powerful magic? You Scourge types really do overestimate your own abilities," a familiar voice entered Delilah's right ear. With her right eye blocked by blood, the paladin was forced to turn to see her savior. She gasped as she realized who it was.

"Captain Warren?" Delilah said, mouth agape.

"Thank me later," the older mage stated. "Negating a spell of that level is not too difficult; he is more skilled that the average Scourge conjurer, but he's nothing special. Now, Marshal Corwin, step aside and let me finish this."

"No!" Delilah bellowed, stepping in front of Warren. "He is my opponent. I will not…"

Warren stared Delilah directly in the face. "I do not doubt your abilities. Trust me, I have my disagreements with Aurora and her underlings, but never think for a second that I see you all as worthless. We are in this conflict together. And, currently, you are in no shape to take on a foe like this. Focus on rallying what troops you can. You may be needed to help halt an infantry offensive that is breaking our left flank."

Delilah paused for a moment and nodded slowly. "Yes…Captain." Without another word, she raced off into the heat of battle.

"Now it is just you and me, you rotting bastard," Warren stated, holy magic lighting up around his hands. _I have thought it over; it may be too hasty to try and get rid of Aurora's faction. At this rate, I will need them alive. Once I reach Tyr's Hand and explain the situation to the officers there, surely things will get resolved. My enemy is the undead: focusing my attention elsewhere will cause our mission to fail. _

"Feh, humans are so overconfident, especially you Scarlets," the necromancer rasped. "Come then, I have not had an exciting magic duel in a long while."

The two wizards eyed each other, their gazes foreshadowing the conflict that was about to erupt on the hillside. Holy magic and dark magic arced around the fists of their respective wizards as the two prepared to do battle.

In an instant, the battle began in earnest. Blasts of energy rippled from the fingers of their respective casters, meeting between the two and cancelling each other out or fizzling out as they were dispelled by their rival. Warren instantly began to sprint at a forty-five degree angle to his foe, hurling small orbs of glowing orpiment hue towards the decaying caster. The necromancer hastily waved his hands, erecting a shield of darkest violet. Yet, even this malicious defense was not enough to protect against Warren's concentrated strikes.

One by one, the orbs pierced holes in the magical shield, slamming into the necromancer's body. The villain shuddered as his undead body began to crumble, each of the balls exploding with pent up holy energy as they drilled into their target.

"Not…yet…" the necromancer grunted, releasing azure spell-strands from his hands and coating his body with them. Bit by bit, the magical wires knitted his form back together, allowing him to stand once more.

"Tenacious, eh?" Warren chuckled as he stood mere inches from the necromancer.

_What in the Lich King's name? How did he get so close to me so quickly? _The necromancer's mind raced wildly. He had no time to consider, however, as he was forced to erect another magical shield to deflect a point-blank blast of Warren's holy magic.

The necromancer panted, his body exhausted from aiding the scarecrow-like warrior for so long and sustaining his shields against such powerful attacks.

"Your reactions are fast for one so old and emaciated," Warren chuckled. "And I'm not exactly a spring chicken myself."

"Who…who are you?" The necromancer stuttered. "Wait…it cannot be…I know your face! You are a member of the Ki…"

A blast of holy magic struck the necromancer's face, interrupting his speech and sending him permanently to his grave.

Warren turned and walked away, knowing he was needed elsewhere in this battle. _I thought his face looked a tad familiar. I cannot believe one such as him would sell his soul to the Lich King, but it seems lesser men are attracted by the promise of endless life and great power. And what he spoke of…no, that was a long time ago…_

"How's the casualty count?" Aurora said gruffly, turning to Delilah.

"Lower than expected considering how strong the enemy forces were," Delilah replied. "From what I have surveyed and from the reports I have gathered from several sergeants and overseers it seems that we lost roughly a hundred soldiers in that conflict, with nearly double that number grievously wounded. Overall, we now have seven hundred troops, though at best we can count on maybe five hundred and fifty."

"In that case, I propose we rest for three days and allow time for the healers to tend to our wounded," Warren stated.

"No, we cannot afford to lose valuable time," Aurora answered.

"But how can we force so many of our loyal troops to press on in this condition? Many of them were beaten near death!" A vein on Warren's brow popped out as he began his argument. "A great many others are malnourished; we should at least take the time to secure some rations!"

"And where do you suppose we find these rations? The animals here are corrupted with the plague and most of the edible plants withered long ago," Aurora shot back. "The sooner we reach Tyr's Hand, the better; they always have large supplies of food and clean water."

"But some of these men cannot even be expected to move, let alone fight!" Warren roared. "How do you propose…"

Delilah was caught in the crossfire, unable to interject. Both commanders made excellent points, but after her failure against the necromancer she felt she could not fight against these two. To even raise her voice would be out of the question against her superiors.

"Warren, I shall give you a choice," Aurora's voice hardened further as she made her ultimatum. "We shall camp here for the evening, but tomorrow at dawn we shall set out once more. If you wish, stay behind with the weaklings and catch up to us at Tyr's Hand... if you can. Or, you can show your devotion to our cause and press onward."

"But how can we even win if our numbers are so low?" Warren replied, but his cry fell on deaf ears. Aurora had already turned away, and had motioned for Delilah to follow her. The mage sighed. _This is the bad blood you hoped to avoid, Whitemane…_

"Master Warren, you look depressed, is there anything I can help you with?" Ellen Harmonia asked as the two sat with a group of soldiers heating some scraps of meat around a campfire.

"No, do not worry," Warren lied, shaking his head as he addressed his adopted daughter. "Anyway, you should worry about yourself, there will be tough battles ahead of us and you still need a lot of practice if you want to be considered a powerful mage."

"But Master Warren!" Ellen whined, "you did not even pay attention to my actions in battle! I helped Captain Elric and his sniping brigade get rid of a huge flock of gargoyles. I even personally finished off the biggest one!"

"Did you now?" Warren chuckled. "Well, there is a still a lot to learn. Someday, you will be one of the leaders of the Scarlet Crusade, and we cannot have our enemies thinking that the last generation was superior!"

"No, I do not wish to be a leader," Ellen replied.

Warren paused. "Why not? I know it would be a great honor to your parents…"

"Because when I'm older I hope that the undead will be no more and there will not be a need for the Scarlet Crusade," Ellen stated.

Warren could not help smiling as he stared at her. The girl was young, but she was sharp. "I think that is what we all desire. But," Warren began, "in that case you still need to train hard. The sooner we are all powerful, the sooner we can attack the Lich King directly and end his reign of terror once and for all. I would love to take my last breath in a world free of Arthas' and his villainy.

"Come," Warren beckoned to his charge as he stood. "It is still fairly early and neither of us has watch duty for the next few hours. I think it is time I taught you some new spells."

The girl nodded and rose to her feet. No sooner had she vacated her seat on the log than one of the Scarlet Crusaders sitting on the ground took it. Ellen shrugged and followed Warren to a small patch of trees where the elder wizard was already at work conjuring one of his more powerful spells.

From a distance, Aurora Cronos and Delilah Corwin watched the two wizards training. Aurora smirked. _It seems Warren hopes his protégé will soon become a tool of his to use against both the undead and me._

"Corwin, follow me," Aurora stated coldly.

"Where are we going, Inquisitor?" Delilah asked, her voice full of confusion.

"To train. Your poor performance of that necromancer alerted me to just how far you still need to go to even be considered a decent paladin. You especially need to work on your skills against magic-users," Aurora said.

"Thank you, Inquisitor," Delilah said hastily, kneeling in reverence only to have her commander pass her by. Delilah jumped to her feet and trotted off after Aurora, noticing that the Inquisitor was busy beckoning for other paladins to follow her as well.

"Why are they coming?" Delilah asked as she caught up to Aurora, indicating the paladins marching behind then with a flick of her thumb.

"Did you think you were going to receive a private lesson?" Aurora said coldly. "If one link is weak, the chain will break. I need _all_ of my paladins with potential to reach the next level. In fact," Aurora paused, and broke off from the column of soldiers, continuing to point them in the direction of an area of flat land where she hoped to train them, "I had best tell Elric to work with the scouts, and find some other suitable troops to work on the remainder of our forces. All of you, start sparring when you reach the training area, I will join you shortly."

A strange feeling rushed through Delilah's body as she watched Aurora walking off. It seemed to her that, perhaps, Aurora had finally grown to care for them as a little more than simple pawns to fight the Lich King. Delilah wished to crack a wicked smile, but she forced her face to remain stolid: if Aurora made her stronger, surely when the time came Delilah could hope to overcome her commanding officer. Through all this, however, Warren's words during the battle echoed through Delilah's mind. Was her revenge even necessary?

Delilah focused her attention on the training ahead. _For now, I cannot consider ideas like camaraderie or competition. I must focus entirely on becoming stronger to defeat the undead. _

"Soldiers, the time has come to head out!" Sonja addressed her camp. The Scarlet Band had long since learned the art of packing up camp in a hurry, and within five minutes all of them were standing at attention, ready to move out.

"Now," Sonja sighed as she scanned the faces of her soldiers, "I know that we have faced hardships in recent days, and I must commend you all for fighting hard and staying determined even in the face of death itself. You honor the memory of your fallen comrades by staying so strong, and surely we will avenge each and every one of them.

"For the moment, we shall press on to Tyr's Hand as we always have. It is my hope that we shall reach our destination before Aurora and the other portion of the Scarlet Band. Know this, however," Sonja's voice turned more serious, ever colder, as she continued her speech, "if we encounter our former comrades, they may very well treat us as despicable deserters and attack us. If that is the case, you must be ready to flee: I do not wish for slaughter among the ranks of the Scarlet Crusade whether our creeds or desires differ. At the heart of this organization is one goal: the purification of Lordaeron. Though we may have different paths or methods of achieving that dream, we each strive towards it in our own way.

"Now, let us make haste to Tyr's Hand! Victory lies ahead!" Sonja finished her lecture with a flourish of her mace, causing cheers to rise from the depleted ranks of her faction. Though they were few in number, these souls were brave.

_I have already accepted the fact that we may all die long before we ever reach Tyr's Hand,_ Sonja thought. _I do not care if history remembers me: what matters is that we make the Scourge struggle to take us down, that for even life of ours they steal we make them pay a dozen times over. _

As the soldiers marched southeast towards Tyr's Hand, Sonja felt a weight on her right shoulder. She looked to see a crimson gauntleted hand resting on her tunic, and she gasped briefly when she saw the owner of the muscled arm it was attached to.

"Sir Herod!" Sonja nearly squeaked. "What is the matter?"

"That speech…it was inspiring," Herod stated, his bass voice betraying no emotion. He said no more words, instead blending back into the ranks of troops.

_Those words…Sonja reminded me…of Whitemane…_

Character Profile: Sonja Vendhelm

Age: 22

Rank: Leader of Sonja's Faction of the Scarlet Band, former Captain of the Scarlet Band, former sergeant in the Scarlet Monastery's 12th Priestly Battalion

Affiliation: Leader of Sonja's Faction of the Scarlet Band, former Captain of the Scarlet Band's Carnelian Company, former member of the Scarlet Monastery's 12th Priestly Battalion.

Abilities: Sonja is an above average priest, with a range of healing abilities though she has mastered several lesser offensive holy spells as well. She is able to erect shields of magical energy. She also carries a mace and shield, which she uses in a defensive style, usually to give her allies time to defeat whoever she fights; Sonja's martial abilities are below that of an average soldier, as expected of a priest.

Appearance: Sonja is five feet five inches tall and has a slender build. She has blond hair that is usually bound as a bun on the top of her head, though occasionally she wears it loose in which case it falls to the nape of her neck. Her eyes are brown. She wears a light red robe and a standard Scarlet Crusade tabard. She usually wears thick cloth gloves on her hands, and sports a silver ring on her right ring finger.

HES: And so ends another chapter! Both portions of the Scarlet Band have reached the Eastern Plaguelands where they will surely face new challenges and hordes of powerful new enemies! Will they reach Tyr's Hand or will the servants of the Lich King destroy them? You will just have to keep reading to find out!

I can't believe it's been a year since I started this story; I have to thank you, the fans, for supporting me through all of this! I hope you all continue to read as the tale of the Scarlet Band continues!

Also, thanks again for the reviews! I know I sound like a broken record, but I really appreciate feedback and it always drives me to work harder and improve my writing! Please leave a review if you can, even if it's brief. Until next time!


	14. Wheel of Endless Fate

Chapter 14: Wheel of Endless Fate

_The halls of the Violet Citadel extended in countless directions. Like the dreams of the hundreds of mages who had traveled through these halls over the past several centuries since the founding of Dalaran, each path represented a future, a dream, a vision. _

_ Warren Trellen grumbled as he came to the intersection of passages and portals. He had been called by Master Atonidas to join an investigation unit: rumor had been circulating about an Orcish Warlock coven operating in the Hillsbrad Foothills. The activities of this group most likely had some greater vile purpose, and the Violet Council hoped to stem this threat before it started. _

_ The standing armies of Dalaran were too large to tackle such a mission: with thousands of troops, the Orcish wizards would surely hear the men coming long before they arrived. Thus, Master Atonidas had chosen a select force of roughly a score of wizards. Scouts had reported that there were roughly a dozen dark wizards and a sizable force of Orcish infantry hidden in the shadow of an area known as Webwood Glen. _

_ Warren rushed to join the other mages in one of the lower Summoning Chambers of the Violet Citadel. As he passed the halls of polished marble, his eyes were drawn to the walls where paintings of famed mages hung: Orville Knedbreck, hero of the Second Amani War; Kaya Deldev, pioneer in the Art of Warding; a wizard whose name was lost to time, known now only as the Black Druid. _

_ As Warren descended lower, he noticed the birth years on the portraits increased. He did not have the time to waste pouring over portraits, but his interest in fine arts caused him to shoot a glance now and then at least to read the name and take in the face. The images seemed to merge into one another after a time, and soon each individual became nothing more than eyes, ears, nose, and mouth._

_ The mage paused, however, as a specific patch of wall caught his attention: here, no painting stood, but on either side of it portraits hung proudly. Warren quickly realized who had once occupied this position, perhaps the wizard with the greatest wasted potential._

'_At all costs, avoid selling your power to darkness,' Antonidas had told Warren. 'And be wary, for even searching for hidden knowledge can lead to corruption. Some things are never meant to be known or understood.'_

I must not forget that man, _Warren thought, eyeing the empty space on the smooth peach masonry. _This patch acts as a reminder to all of us…

_Warren spared not another moment as he rushed down the hallway, the sun glinting in through a hole in the ceiling above and shining on the name plate which had been left for posterity so younger students could learn this accursed figure's name. The light caught the brass placard and glinted for a mere moment before passing onward. The word illuminated was Medivh. _

_It took another thirty minutes of jogging before Warren reached the Summoning Chamber. He was breathless when he arrived, cursing his increasing age; magical dampeners installed in the walls of Dalaran to prevent backlash from magical experiments also prevented mages from teleporting, by way of a spell known as Blink, unless they were given a high enough rank and allowed to wear a charm that nullified the effects the magical dampeners. _

_Warren coughed as he pushed aside the door to the Ruby Summoning Chamber: each one of these rooms in the basements of the Violet Citadel was named after a precious stone, an example of which was posted on the doorway, in order to mark them from one another. Aside from the differences in name and gemstone, each room was effectively the same, consisting of curved walls forming an ellipse with a hexagonal dais supporting a glowing Channeling Sphere in the center of the chamber. The name of the rooms was somewhat of a misnomer in modern times: while the rooms were once used to summon mages from far off places, they were now used for a multitude of activities including training, research, and spell augmentation. _

_The other two dozen mages were already in the room when Warren arrived. Their eyes all squinted simultaneously with contempt at his late arrival, but most glanced only for a second before turning back to the task at hand: most were already channeling streams of vermillion energy from the glowing orb in the room's center, the wizards preparing themselves for the long-distance teleport to Webwood Glen. _

_Two older wizards, however, stood at one of the walls, busily casting a spell to weaken the room's dampeners so that the group would be able to teleport out of the Violet Citadel. Warren rushed to them, panting. _

"_How nice of you to join us, Keeper Trellen," the first spoke, his voice cracking like scaffolding under the strain of great weight. His face was lined with wrinkles, and he sported a granite hued beard pocked with flecks of black that fell almost to his knees. His violet robe was perfectly starched, as if he was prepared for cleaning duty rather than combat._

"_Good day, Master Elios," Warren said, tipping his head briefly as a sign of respect. "And to you, Mistress Grewen."_

"_Almost thought you'd forget me," the second figure, Grewen, acknowledged. She was older than Elios, and was almost bald save for a thin mesh of white wiry hairs than ran across the rear of her scalp; as such, she usually kept her hood up. Her eyes were a piercing emerald, and shifted back and forth constantly as if suspicious of everyone present. _

"_Anyway, we have completed most of the restraint releases, so you need not trouble yourself," Elios stated, an air of superiority in his words. _

"_Now Elios, no need to be so harsh on the lad, he has it hard enough as is, what with his only claim to rank coming from the exploits of his parents," Grewen interjected, her voice upper class and distant._

_Elios and Grewen had never liked Warren, and their hatred had grown when they found out he was to be one of the superiors assigned to this mission. Both of them were resentful that Warren had risen through the ranks so quickly, poised perhaps to become the youngest member of the Kirin Tor in almost a century, and neither wanted to acknowledge his breadth of success. Many, including Warren himself, postulated that their hatred came after a series of spats with his parents: Grewen had been rejected by Warren's father in favor of his mother, while Elios felt a sting of shame that the previous generation of Trellens had sacrificed their lives so he and many others could escape from a tribe of rampaging Alterean Yetis while he himself had fled in fear. _

_The two elder mages had even gone so far as to turn the other members of the expedition against Warren: they had spent the past few days sowing seeds of discontent and filling the minds of these younger mages with lies. Word had now spread that Warren was a depraved individual: he had murdered his best friend and stolen his wand, he had fathered children with an Alterean woman of ill-repute, he divulged in drink every evening rather than taking his shifts of watch or aiding in magical research. _

_Warren, however, took no heed of the malice thrown at him: he had long since grown immune to such petty taunts, and cared only about the mission ahead of him. _

"_Let me finish the final stage of releases: you two rest and recover a bit of your energy," Warren stated, moving towards a shimmering celadon rune adorning the wall. _

_Grewen moved to intercept Warren, but he just continued his march forward, his hand contacting the glowing pictograph before she could even attempt to properly halt his advance. _

_Warren began chanting under his breath, focusing his mind on nothing save the etchings beneath his palm. He had performed such a task several times before, but he was still inexperienced enough to need almost total focus to complete the spell. _

"_Done, let's proceed to the next phase," Warren declared, removing his hand from the wall and pulling the sleeve of his robe back down to cover his forearm. _

"_Took you long enough…" muttered Elios as he moved towards the other mages present in the Summoning Chamber. The elder seemed to glide across the floor as he moved towards his underlings, his robe sliding like a mauve sea across the flawless marble beneath his feet. Grewen followed post haste, her gait somewhat more subdued and clumsy. Warren approached the others slowly; there was no need to rush at this point. _

"_Commence Mass Teleportation Channeling," Grewen declared, and immediately the assembled mages sprung into action. Each moved within five feet of the orb in the room's center and began chanting, their energy pouring one by one into the massive conduit before them._

"_Good, good, keep the balance steady," Elios declared. Warren squinted his eyes in concentration, his field of vision filling with swirls of colors and shapes._

_Warren coughed, spluttered, and fell to his knees. His eyes rolled back into his head and his stomach swelled painfully. His head flew backward, then forward, before his mouth pulled wide open and he wretched the contents of his gut onto the ground before him._

"_Disgusting…" someone muttered from a distance as Warren panted and pushed himself upright. Long-distance teleportation always made Warren feel somewhat ill; what had just transpired was not a common occurrence, but it was not rare either. Other mages faced similar dilemmas at that very moment, but they were free from the scorn that Warren was forced to endure._

"_At least we arrived on a plateau and not a crag…" Warren grumbled to himself as he surveyed the area. _

_Webwood Glen was a lesser known area of the Hillsbrad Foothills. It was far off the beaten path and consisted of an area of dense forest, rare in these often wide, rolling hills. The trees were thick, ancient spruces whose bark told the tale of years past. Once, this area had been home to a colony of giant spiders who gave the area its name; shortly before the First War, however, a group of Gilnean mercenaries, hired by the local lord, had entered the forest and apparently put all of the arachnids to the sword. There were, however, still locals that believed the spiders still lingered beneath the needle-covered canopy: there were superstitions that killing these arthropods had only sought to cement their spirits to the place, and villagers had sworn to have seen massive, ethereal creatures slinking through the shadows in Webwood Glen._

_These old wives' tales and other ghost stories had inspired the Horde to make use of Webwood Glen as a staging point for some of their activities in Hillsbrad. Gul'dan saw fit to place some of his warlocks and even several units of grunts in the region in order to hide them from the prying eyes of Orgrim Doomhammer, Warchief of the Horde. Doomhammer wished for the Horde to swiftly crush Hillsbrad, and Gul'dan feared that the "uncouth" masses of the Blackrock Clan would destroy precious objects he sought within Hillsbrad: thus, Gul'dan had sent a group of his most trusted underlings to carry out the necessary covert activities before Doomhammer's orgy of destruction came to a head._

"_Quit daydreaming and let's get moving," Grewen growled at the assembled mages of Dalaran. "Word is that we should expect a decent sized force of Orcs: the foot-soldiers are merely green-skinned apes and so should go down fairly easily, though watch out for their spellcasters. The last thing we need is to allow one of them to summon some sort of Demon and doom us all." _

"_Yes, Mistress!" Two dozen voices echoed in unison, Warren's reverberating with them; no matter how they treated him, Warren knew that he must always respect his elders and superiors. _

"_I know some of you are fairly green, but you were selected by Master Atonidas because of your inherent skill and potential," Elios interjected. "When we return to Dalaran, you will all be heroes and many of you may even rise through the ranks. Also, with each victory we push back the vile Horde from corrupting our sacred lands._

"_Now, we must plan carefully," Elios continued. "Mistress Grewen and I will each lead one task force. I have already sensed the position of the Horde's forces; it stinks of Daemonic Magic something terrible. My forces will attack from the front; we will rain magic upon them and force the Orcs to come to us. While this is happening, Mistress Grewen and her troops will wheel around on the western flank. Just as the Orcs come within range of our lines, they will rain death upon our foes from the side, taking the greenskins by surprise and cementing our victory. Any questions?"_

_Silence fell over the crowd as Elios's keen eyes surveyed the purple robes arrayed before him. _

"_Good, you twelve," Grewen quickly indicated a group of mages, "follow me. We need to be in position within one hour."_

"_The rest of you are with me," Elios stated, his gaze fixing on Warren longer than any of the other wizards as they moved towards a dense copse of trees some distance off. _

_Warren's blood rushed as they moved closer and closer to the closely-knitted trunks a ways off. To him, the way the branches intertwined and snaked around one another seemed to imply that perhaps the spirit of the spiders really did linger in this patch of wilderness. _

_This would be Warren's first foray into the Second War. This conflict had raged for less than a year, but already its effects were beginning to spread. Dalaran had been mostly absent from the previous conflict with the Orcs, but this time they knew they could not afford to sit idly by: the Horde had grown too powerful, and they needed to be eliminated before the very fabric of Human Civilization ripped to shreds. _

_Without realizing it, the trees seemed to appear right before Warren. "Here we are, the edge of Webwood Glen," Elios grumbled. "Stay close to me and keep your wits about you." The mages nodded, and one by one ducked into the maze of bark and briar. _

_The mages all acted in unison, pointing their fingers towards their feet and weaving silver ribbons of aether around the soles of their feet. This was a fairly low-level spell, but it acted to prevent their feet from rustling leaves, crushing branches, or otherwise making their presence known to the Orcs._

_Elios swept his eyes warily back and forth as he sauntered at the head of the column, his steps metered as if expecting to reach the Horde encampment any minute. Warren and the others followed the example of their leader, scanning the trees with their eyes and focusing their magical sense in hopes of locating their foes._

_Finally, after almost half an hour of walking, Elios raised his hand to signal for the others to halt. He waved his hands in a series of signs he had taught the men beforehand, indicating a simple message: Orcs ahead, advance slowly._

_Warren and the others moved behind Master Elios, creeping around a ring of trees and scanning the area before them. They saw a small clearing with a cave at its rear that extended into a low rise; Warren assumed that the cave housed the dark mages, and as such its gaping maw exuded an aura of dread. Scores of ratty rawhide mats were spread out over the clearing, and atop each one sat an Orcish Grunt, the Horde's basic infantry and the bulk of their forces on Azeroth. The Orcs were busy with daily activities: some were asleep denoted by their horrendous snoring which sounded like a drowning dragon attempting to eat a seagull, others sharpened their axe-heads with pieces of flint, while another contingent sat around a series of campfires roasting hunks of meat over the crackling tangerine colored flames. _

_Elios issued another simple command with his hands: attack._

_Lightning, ice, fire, arcane energy: the myriad of magical effects whipped from the hands of the Dalarani spellcasters. The Orcish camp immediately entered a state of panic; each second, more than a dozen grunts were brought down. Some of the older warriors barked commands in their guttural language, hefting axes and pointing towards the mages positions. Immediately, any fear held in the Orcish hearts was dispelled, and they rushed into a frenzy, their eyes burning red as they charged into the trees, their blades glinting as pinpricks of light penetrated the forest canopy. _

"_Taste this, green-skinned bastards!" Elios roared, freezing an Orc solid; the hapless grunt's frozen form tumbled backwards, crushing the life from two of his compatriots. Warren set about his own task, alternating between bolts of lightning and balls of fire as he tore through lines of Orcs. _

_It seemed the Horde forces would never reach the line of mages: the warriors were killed before they could enter striking range. As the minutes wore on, however, the number of the Orcs began to tell and Warren watched in horror as he saw a trio of grunts bury their axes in the body of a young mage known as Kellia Dillswater. _

"_Bloody greenskinned pigs!" Elios continued to curse, blasting waves of arcane energy through a line of Orcs. "Where the hell are Grewen and the rest?"_

_Suddenly, a horn echoed through the forest, and the Orcs immediately stopped their assault and began to part ranks. The mages saw this as the perfect opportunity to attack, but as each saw what was revealed to them, they became speechless. _

_The center of the camp had become a veritable charnel house. The bodies of Grewen and all her accomplices littered the ground, their bodies hanging limp. Small, stone-bladed axes were buried in their backs and necks. A two-tiered circle surrounded the corpses of these men and women: on the outside stood a group of Forest Trolls, their skin slightly lighter than that of the Orcs to better blend in with the summer leaves, their hair spiked, styled and dyed in a myriad of eccentric shapes and colors. On the inside of the circle stood the Orcish Warlocks; they were clad in robes of black and azure. All of the greenskin mages chanted and poured sickening grayish-green magic into the corpses of the fallen forces of Dalaran, save for a single Orc. He was taller than the rest, and his robe was purely azure and marked with a symbol that resembled a white lightning bolt. _

"_Thank you for coming, magical humans," the tall Orc spoke in nearly flawless Common. "I am glad that you have come to bear witness to this historic moment. From this point forward, this war will change forever."_

"_Shut your damn mouth, you fucking green-faced monster!" Elios spat, conjuring a ball of ice which he hurled towards the Orcish lines; the Orc who had spoke sighed and waved his hand casually, causing Elios's spell to dissipate in mid-air. Elios attempted to fire more energy blasts at his foe, but the Orc countered each one with barely a thought._

"_Your friends were easy pickings for our allies," the Orc continued as he blocked more of Elios's attacks with one hand and indicated the Trolls with his other. "I really expected you all to be more wary of your surroundings."_

"_What in the Light's name are you doing to their bodies?" Warren shouted out, unable to contain the anxiety that tore through his flesh. _

"_Patience, human, you will see the fruit of our labors momentarily," the Orc chuckled, his laugh throaty and gruff, sounding almost as if he was parched. _

_ Everyone assembled, Horde and Alliance, focused on the actions of the Orcish Warlocks. After several seconds, the bodies of the fallen wizards began to twitch slightly, and then writhe uncontrollably. Slowly, but surely, one of the bodies stretched backwards and rose to its feet; the mages of Dalaran cringed as one, for as the figure stood they saw her face was a mass of mutilated flesh. _

_ One by one, the other bodies rose to their feet and began to shamble awkwardly forward, moving towards their former allies._

_ "What…what the fuck have you done?" Elios roared._

_ "I am not surprised you humans know nothing of Necromancy," the lead-Orc declared. "Do not worry yourself: you shall have the honor of dying by the hands of our experiments."_

_ "They…were our comrades!" Someone shouted from the crowd._

_ "How can you do this?" Another screeched. _

_ "Buck up!" Elios called to the mages. "There may have once been our peers but they are Orcish pawns now! There aren't many of them; let's scythe them down and move onto the O…" but Master Elios never finished his sentence; he teetered awkwardly in place before falling forward, his body tumbling into the mass of undead, an axe lodged in his forehead._

_ Several trolls grinned, but the tall Orc raised his hand in a gesture of pause. "Let these humans know TRUE fear."_

_ With Elios dead, many of the other mages began to panic. Some tried to hastily fling spells at their foes, occasionally killing an Orc or Troll, while others stood stock still, unable to react to the death of their leader. _

_ The Orcs and Trolls advanced beside the undead, and soon had moved to form a ring around Warren and the remaining mages of Dalaran. The green-skinned creatures stomped their feet and chanted in their unintelligible dialect, taunting the humans as their former comrades moved closer. _

_ Warren attempt to raise his arm to shoot a bolt of lightning as the ring of enemies, but his hand felt heavy. He looked to his limbs, and saw ethereal, lichen-colored chains swirling and tightening around his skin. A quick survey of his comrades showed that they, too, were suffering a similar fate. Warren saw, behind the inner ring of Trolls and Orcish Grunts, stood the group of mages, their voices chanting in unison as they continued to hold the humans captive._

_ Each second, the undead mages shambled closer and closer to their former allies. Among them now was the animated corpse of Elios, his head still bleeding from the fresh wound inflicted not two minutes earlier. Warren heard screams to his right but did not turn his head to look; he knew some of the undead had already reached their lines, and he did not want to watch what horrors they were inflicting on the others. The cheers of the brutish grunts reinforced Warren's decision to continue staring straight ahead, his gaze focused on a far away tree branch._

_ Less than five feet away, Warren's own murder was inching forward. It was, ironically, the figure of Grewen; Warren almost cracked a smile when he realized one of his greatest detractors would indeed be the person to end his life. _

_ As his assailant trudged closer, Warren closed his eyes and contemplated their situation. It was doomed from the start: the Orcs were not the fools the Alliance assumed, and this mission had only succeeded in sacrificing the lives of skilled mages. It was his fault for being foolish: he should have been warier, should have known their unimpeded approach was too good to be true, should have released more of his energy when attacking the Orcs…_

That's just it,_ the thought flashed through Warren's mind like lightning. _I conserved my energy knowing the fight would be a long one. Ironic that I will be saved by is the thing that led to my team's destruction…

_ Warren concentrated, drawing on his reserves of energy. He felt power coursing through his veins and he uttered a secret word of power. Seconds later, the mage was transported twenty feet into the distance, out of the clearing and away from the Horde. The magical rings wrapping his arms and legs dissipated, the binding spell disrupted by the energy released from the teleportation; Warren wasted no time running as fast he could out of the forest cover. He heard the roars of the Orcs behind him, but did not turn around: it had taken most of his energy to teleport away, especially with the warlocks' spells on him. If he wanted to survive, he could not afford to stop. _

_ After running for over an hour across the plains of Hillsbrad, Warren finally flopped to the ground. The voices of the Orcish troops had subsided over forty minutes ago, but he did not wish to risk anything. He assumed they were probably busy celebrating their spoils and getting ready for their next onslaught._

_ Warren sprawled across the grass and stared at the clouds overhead. It had all happened so suddenly and so unexpectedly: mages, slain by uncultured Trolls and then turned into monsters…it sounded like the ravings of a drunken Dwarf at the Feast of Golden Halls. _

That's what they were…monsters,_ Warren thought, his mind racing with images of the perverted necromantic ritual and the corrupted carcasses of his comrades. _Their lives were forfeit for the machinations of the Horde. Death is a natural part of life: nothing that falls should rise again. Those…necromancers…I swear that if I ever see one again, I shall wipe them out and lay to rest the bodies of those they use as sacrificial lambs for their malicious missions.

_With that thought in mind, Warren rose and began to walk towards a dirt road a quarter of a mile in the distance. Night was falling, and he hoped to reach an inn before the sun set. Tomorrow, he would see about securing a horse and return to Dalaran post-haste: there was much work to be done._

"Master Warren! Wake up!" Ellen Harmonia whined, her voice quavering in her attempt to be forceful with her guardian. Groggily, the mage sat up without a word and turned towards his pupil turned second-in-command.

"What's with the ruckus?" Warren groaned, yawning and stretching as he rose from his cot and rubbed his eyes.

"Inquisitor Aurora wishes to meet with you at the western edge of camp," Ellen chortled hastily, the words spilling from her mouth.

Warren stood to his full height, twisted his head left and right to crack his neck, put on his robe, and exited the tent with Ellen following closely behind.

It was a short walk to the meeting place, and when Warren arrived he found Aurora alone, staring off towards the distant mountains of Northern Lordaeron. Warren beckoned for Ellen to depart before he addressed Aurora.

"What did you wish to speak to me about?" Warren asked.

"Our lack of supplies," Aurora said bluntly, her back still turned to Warren. "I had one of my aides take stock of our food stores and it seems we barely have enough rations to last three days. We must take action…"

It seemed Aurora's opinion from the day before had changed. _Even Aurora must see that there is no hope of our mission succeeding at this rate, but that does not mean she has a logical solution to the problem. I had best figure out exactly how she intends to deal with this issue. _

"Surely you cannot suggest we cut down the rations we issue to the soldiers!" Warren cut in, his face reddening.

"Feh, you sure _do_ get testy," Aurora replied, dryly, cocking her head towards Warren so he could view the right half of her face. "Would you happen to have a better suggestion then? We cannot expect to find food in this horrid wasteland, and we are at least a few days march from Tyr's Hand."

Warren paused, his mind pulsing with an idea. Part of him wanted to choke it down, to keep it away, for he knew the implications of his suggestion. Yet, he was not about to let his allies starve to death: there was still much work ahead of them all.

"There is always Darrowshire."

Aurora did not respond immediately, and Warren was almost sure he saw this usually composed woman shudder slightly at the thought of such a venture. "Do you mean to suggest that we check the remnants of the stores of that forsaken town? What could possibly be left?" Aurora's voice contained its usual harsh tone, but beneath it seemed a hint of fear.

"If you recall, two years after the Battle of Darrowshire a contingent of troops from Tyr's Hand conducted reconnaissance to see if the city could be cleansed," Warren began. "They compiled a report and sent it around to all of our major centers of operation in Lordaeron.

"Ultimately, they found the city overrun with undead, and deemed it a cleansing mission 'unnecessary at present.' There were bigger problems, what with the forces of the Lich King running rampant across the land and the Forsaken coming into their own.

"Their report, however, did include some useful bits of information. For instance, at least one-third of the former town's structures still stood, among them the granaries and storehouses. One of the scouts even reported venturing into a granary and noting that the cellar contained several score barrels of ale, pickled vegetables, and cheese. The undead, lacking a sense of smell and a desire to eat such food, left the place totally untouched. I suggest we see if the rumor proves true; we might unearth a treasure trove that could keep our operation stocked until we reach Tyr's Hand."

"There's one massive problem with your plan," Aurora growled, turning to fully face Warren, her eyes narrowed and cold, "how can we afford to take such a risk? Given our current position, Darrowshire is a day's march away, but given the possibility of facing Undead in the city we may get tied down there for awhile. If it turns out there is no store of food, our supplies will surely be exhausted long before we can even hope to reach Tyr's Hand."

Warren smirked, letting out a quick huff which transformed into a brief laugh. "Aurora, this seems horribly out of character for you. Are you afraid to take a risk? Are you afraid we may actually _lose _to the undisciplined undead at Darrowshire? The only reason the town was not cleansed was the time it would take and the necessity to assign troops elsewhere: the undead stationed there, at least according to the report, are some of the weakest and are led by some of the most ineffectual of all the Lich King's lieutenants."

Aurora stared at Warren a long time, wind whipping past both of them as they seemed to freeze in a moment that could quite possibly change the entire future of Lordaeron. Aurora finally reached a decision, and opened her mouth to give her verdict.

"Have your troops ready to pick up camp in an hour and a half. Then, we leave for Darrowshire."

"Darrowshire?" Delilah said the word as if it was entirely alien. "I believe I have heard of it before, but I thought that the Scourge razed it during the Third War."

"Partially true," Captain Elric replied, nudging his head towards the low mountains the Scarlet Band approached. "In that valley lie the remnants of that once thriving township. The town came under attack early on in the war, but ultimately they held out against anything the Scourge threw at them thanks to the leadership of the genius commander Joseph Redpath. Alas, their resistance only sought to antagonize the Lich King and it was not long before the size of the Scourge forces committed to destroying the resistance tripled in size. Against such odds, there was no hope of victory but the valorous partisans fought on, forcing the undead to bleed.

"After the battle ended, the Scourge apparently left the town as it was, stationing a decent number of troops in the area to discourage a reconquest," Elric continued. "There is not much there, but the morale gained by retaking such a pivotal point would surely hamper the machinations of the Lord of Icecrown. Thus, it was necessary to discourage would-be attackers by placing a fair number of undead in the town; as a result, it would take too long and cost too many lives to make assaulting Darrowshire worthwhile for the forces of the Alliance, or later for our troops."

"I see…" Delilah trailed off as she squinted into the distance, attempting to see some sign of civilization between the rising peaks. There was nothing to indicate that humans, let alone anyone, had ever lived in this area: the land was desolate and silent.

The metered march of the Scarlet Band was the only noise that echoed across the horizon. Few of them spoke, their faces set in dour expressions as they readied for yet another conflict in this endless stream of battles. It had all been so tiring…yet they were so close to their final goal.

Elric recalled a distant memory as the Scarlet Band crossed through the pass leading into the remains of Darrowshire. Long ago, as a child, he had traveled to Darrowshire in order to sell some of his family's old furniture. Elric's last memory of the place was a beautiful, thriving little town with bright-faced inhabitants. When he had heard of its fall to the Scourge, he was bereaved; now, however, he set his duty before him. _I cannot afford to become emotional; I must concentrate on the task ahead of me._

"Glory to the Scarlet Crusade…" Elric muttered to himself as he reached the end of the mountain pass.

Aurora Cronos marched at the head of the column that entered what was once Darrowshire. She was silent as she surveyed the ruined buildings and long-fallow fields. The closest group of undead were the first thing to catch Aurora's eye: it consisted of a force of roughly two score Ghouls wandering aimlessly over a hundred feet away. Aurora turned to Elric, nodded her head, and pointed her right index finger towards the group of Undead. Elric nodded back, and motioned for a unit of ten scouts to follow him. The Scarlet Scouts snuck forward, moving behind a series of low-hills that once had made up the stockade of the town. The archers took their position and let loose a volley, each shaft dropping one of the undead; before the mindless troops could react, a second shower of projectiles finished off the rest.

"I assume it's safe to go ahead?" Warren's voice whispered in Aurora's ear.

The paladin snapped around and stepped back, creating distance between herself and the mage. "Don't _ever_ approach me like that again," Aurora snapped before regaining her composure. "Yes, we will move out as discussed."

The plan Aurora and Warren had decided on the day before involved splitting the Scarlet Band into three parts. The first section, led by Inquisitor Aurora herself, would strike into the center of the town and focus on creating a ruckus. Their objective was not achieving victory, but rather stalling the Scourge forces long enough in order for the second group could complete their goal.

The second group, led by Captain Elric and consisting mostly of the faster and more lightly armored troops, was tasked with searching out the storehouses and removing their contents. Elric, having visited the town in his youth, could remember its layout well enough. There were several other individuals who had traveled to Darrowshire before as well, including an archer named Rosie Cornichon, a former inhabitant who had left the town after joining the Alliance military in the early days of the Third War.

The third group, led by Grand Inquisitor Warren, was meant to act as reserves and cover the remainder of the Scarlet Band as they retreated after the mission was completed.

Aurora wasted no time commanding her forces to move out, Delilah among them. _I'm almost there,_ Delilah thought as she ran behind her commanding officer. _I'm starting to understand how Inquisitor Aurora fights…I just need to see if the weakness I noticed in the last battle is real and not just a fluke. For now, however, I need to focus more on staying alive._

Delilah turned her attention to the undead lying before her as they continued their charge. Aurora had led them into the center of town where the bulk of the undead forces stood. Here the buildings were mostly intact, albeit many were damaged and showed signs of decay. The fountain in the town square was still in decent shape, though the water had long since stopped following and rested, stagnant and murky, in the basin of carved granite.

Aurora struck the undead conclave before any of her troops came within striking range. Her aura shimmered as she slammed into their lines, several of the lesser zombies starting to come apart by the sheer holy power of her will. Aurora drew _Uther's Arm_ and plunged it recklessly into the sea of rotting bodies. Delilah watched her as the weapon rose and fell, admiring the power and ease with which the Inquisitor dispatched her adversaries.

The other soldiers in Aurora's group joined their leader in battle. Delilah clubbed a spear armed skeleton in the head, crushing the thin bronze helmet he wore, before turning her attention to a block of zombies that several swordsmen were in the process of hacking apart. Some scouts and mages had also been assigned to this group, and they focused on the enemies in the air, preventing gargoyles and other winged horrors from descending upon the Scarlet Crusaders. One unlucky warrior had already been lifted off into the air before being dropped from a height of thirty feet onto one of his comrades, killing them both instantly.

A brash group of skeletons armed with spears encircled Aurora and stabbed forward with their weapons; though slower and less disciplined that the other undead they had faced in the Eastern Plaguelands, one of the undead soldiers was lucky enough to score a blow, the point of his polearm stabbing Aurora through one of the joints in her armor near the right shoulder.

"Damned monster! Die!" Aurora called out, her aura flaring up even more. The skeletons shied away before the paladin smashed their bones to dust one by one.

Meanwhile, Elric's forces had already neared the first of several storehouses. All of their target buildings were in the same general region, having once been the town's market district. A few well-placed arrows finished off the literal skeleton guard outside the first storehouse, and one by one the scouts filed in, rolling out what barrels and carrying what sacks and crates they could with post haste, loading them onto a group of abandoned carts that had conveniently been untouched by the Scourge.

While the first storehouse was fairly untouched and provided a good bounty, the second's cellar had clearly seen better days. Little was left, and it seemed a rodent problem had ruined much of the food. Nevertheless, the soldiers grabbed what they could and moved on.

The third storehouse was in the sorriest state, its interior clearly showing signs of fire. Nothing was left but charcoal and Elric told his troops to move on to the final few storehouses.

After the final storehouse was cleared, Elric wasted no time directing his troops towards the area where Warren and his reserves waited for them. Already, some of the reserves had entered the fray to relieve Aurora's force, but for the most part the initial group of Scarlet Crusaders seemed untouched.

Seeing Elric's forces making for the exit, Aurora called her soldiers back with a fierce sweep of her hand. _As much as I'd love to cut down more of you weaklings I have bigger things to worry about,_ the paladin considered. It had been less than an hour, but already the battle seemed to have reached its end.

"That was almost too easy," Delilah muttered to herself as they headed out of the town square and towards the mountain pass, a small force of Scoure trailing aimlessly behind them. "I suppose the Lich King really did not expect anyone to attack…"

There is something to be said for tempting fate, and at that moment Delilah Corwin had surely done just that.

Events occurred so fast it took a minute before anyone realized exactly what was going on. The ground shook in some areas as Crypt Fiends emerged from their subterranean lairs and pulled hapless soldiers beneath the soil. Few even had time to scream as the mandibles of these monsters closed around their skulls or the humans' mouths were filled with grit as they left the surface.

Bolts of necromantic magic flew as a group of necromancers and even several skeletal mages exited a group of ruined buildings. More zombies and skeletons rose from the ground, while meanwhile a collection of what the Scarlet Band had assumed were statues in the town came to life, these simulacra of death attacking the humans with stone limbs. In less than a minute, the Scourge forces tripled in size.

"Fuck it all," Aurora panted as she reached the lines of reserve forces. As much as she did not want to admit it, she was exhausted: her foes had been weak, yes, but it was not as if she had killed them without some amount of physical exertion. Her race to the edge of the town had also sapped her energy. Her troops did not look much better: a great many of them were heaving heavily as they reached Warren's force; the unluckier ones had already fallen by the wayside and had been set upon by the undead.

"Form up, soldiers of the Scarlet Crusade! Guard Inquisitor Aurora and Captain Elric's retreat!" Warren called out. His soldiers wasted no time adhering to his commands, advancing to meet the oncoming undead. Teams of soldiers formed around the supply caravan, dozens of men falling as they formed rings around the groups of scouts transporting goods on their backs or in carts.

It was a massacre. The profusion of undead troops ripped through the little resistance offered by Warren and his forces. Aurora's forces were too beleaguered to offer assistance and, while a few charged heroically, most were forced to head for the exit. Elric and his troops, as well, could offer no real assistance as they were focused on getting supplies out of the area as quickly as possible.

Warren called upon his reserves of energy, firing blasts of holy fire towards a group of necromancers, incinerating two and sending the others into a temporary retreat into a building behind them. The old mage smirked, "Fools…can the undead not understand simple logic?" With another blast of flame, Warren set the house ablaze. As the smoldering rafters crashed from above, he heard the screams of the dying spellcasters.

Despite Warren's success, however, the majority of his troops were in dire straits. Most now lay dead or wounded, and the priests were unable to tend to injuries as they were busy raising shields or firing blasts of holy magic into the sea of Scourge.

Delilah turned around to look at the continuing battle. She immediately turned her face away and continued her retreat. _Damn it all…if I was stronger I could aid them…I could turn back the Scourge…how could this happen? Was the Scourge ready for us? Was this all just a trap?_

Sweat collected on Warren's brow as he continued firing blasts of magic into the enemy army. He had just now let loose a blast of lightning to pick off a gargoyle hovering above his head.

"You dare use Arcane Magic?" Aurora suddenly appeared before Warren, her face twisted with rage. "The Scarlet Crusade requires all magic to derive from the Holy…"

"Shut your blasted face," Warren growled, pushing her aside, "and get the hell out of here." _Right now, we need to focus on staying alive. As much as I swore I would never use these spells again…at this point we have no chance. I might even have to…_

Warren's thought was interrupted as he noticed a group of undead creatures that resembled a mix between hounds and lizards rushed towards him. He finished them all off with a cascade of ice spears before they reached within two yards of his position.

Aurora rushed out, glancing back at Warren briefly. _Damn it all…to have to rely on that man for protection. _

"Master Warren!" Ellen Harmonia's called out as she rushed beside her teacher and guardian. "I am sorry it took me so long; I rushed back from the scouts after leaving the supplies I gathered with someone else. I'm here now and ready to help you fight; there are even some others behind me."

"Turn around," Warren grunted without looking at his pupil. He projected a wave of fire towards a force of zombies that were fighting some of the few Scarlet Crusaders who remained alive in the field.

"But…master…there are few reserves left," Ellen stuttered. "The majority of the rations have already been transported out. We just need to last for another few minutes and then we can escape, too."

"I'm not leaving," Warren stated, his voice stern.

"Master…?" Ellen's voice trailed off, a tear coming to her eye. "What do you intend…?"

"I've lived a long time, Ellen," Warren said. "I have laughed, cried, fought, danced, sang, loved, enjoyed wonderful times and times of great sorrow. In all my life, I never felt I could be of use to anyone, even when gaining a position on the Kirin Tor or in the Scarlet Crusade.

"I have made terrible mistakes, and for them I must atone. I have sacrificed friends and innocents. I have wasted too much time on petty fantasies of revenge, even against some of the people I should have called my allies. It is now up to Inquisitor Aurora to lead this force; give this to her," Warren ripped the sigil of the High Inquisitor from his neck, turned around, and handed it to Ellen, noticing her face was stained with tears.

"As much as I hate to admit it, that woman is a gifted combatant and a canny leader," Warren continued. "Just make sure that she does not gain too much power, or I fear it could spell doom for us all. The Scarlet Crusade _needs _to stay united so that we may deliver the final blow to that traitorous bastard Arthas.

"Ellen, I've loved you like a daughter, which is why I must _order _you to go with post haste. You are young, and I am sure that you will be one of the people to help destroy the Lich King's vile empire. You will be lucky enough live the majority of your life in a Lordaeron that no longer knows fear."

"But…master…" Ellen blubbered, unable to enunciate properly between her sobs.

"Damn it all, **GO**!" Warren's voice was stern, almost enraged, and Ellen rushed away without a backwards glance.

Warren turned back towards the Scourge horde before him. None of the men in his original force were still alive: a river of crimson uniforms stood out in the ruins of Darrowshire as all around them bony bodies trudged forward.

"Come on you bastards, give me your best shot," Warren roared his challenge, energy rushing from his body as he channeled every bit of power he could muster. Warren closed his eyes and thought back to his training; long ago, in Dalaran as a youth, he had encountered a High Elf wizard. It was so long ago that Warren could not remember the Elf's name, but he remembered something more important: a spell of arcane energy that was perhaps the strongest and most dangerous he had ever learned. With what he had learned since, it may be possible to augment the spell even further…

"_Hamos_," the first word of the spell rippled from Warren's lips as the oncoming horde of undead came ever closer.

"_Disos,_" Warren's body glowed with silver light.

"_Nek'nom,_" Warren's silver lining began to shift as a golden undertow moved through it. All at once, the wizard combined arcane and holy energy into one hideously powerful spell.

"_Hizanso_!" Warren extended his hands before him, his palms perpendicular to the corrupted soil of Darrowshire. For but a second, the entire town of Darrowshire was coated in a blanket of platinum light. Those Scarlet Crusaders who turned around from afar to view Warren's attack would forever remember that startling light, a shade of color they had never seen before and would never see again.

Warren panted as he finished the attack, smiling as he noted the collapsed bodies and piles of ash that had once been an army of undead. A weak wind rustled cloth on the forms of the fallen, creating the only noise in all of Darrowshire.

"Isilien…forgive me. I'll be joining you shortly," Warren rasped, his body using all its energy to remain standing. "Glory to…the…Scarlet…Crusade…" The wizard cracked a final smile and collapsed to the ground. His eyes snapped shut and never opened again.

The rest of the Scarlet Band was already a quarter of a mile up the path when Warren died and continued their march unimpeded in case of pursuit by Scourge forces. Their take from the storehouses had been large, but the price they had paid for it was great. Almost two hundred troops had been lost in what the soldiers were already dubbing the Second Battle of Darrowshire. Now, the New Scarlet Band numbered only five hundred souls, though many still nursed wounds from the conflict while others were still not fully healed from battles in days past.

Aurora was entirely silent as they marched onwards. She did not speak for four hours, opening her mouth when she finally ordered the troops to pitch their tents. She took her dinner alone: a simple meal of biscuits and a mug of ale. She refused all visitors; Ellen Harmonia decided to wait to give the sigil to the paladin the next day.

As Aurora sat alone in her tent, finishing the remnants of her paltry dinner, she thought over Warren. _You were a fine mage and rival,_ Aurora thought. _I almost thought I'd be ecstatic to see you die…but why can't I shake this feeling? No…it just must be exhaustion from the battle. Why worry? I am now undisputed commander of this organization. _

Aurora retired to her cot and attempted to fall asleep, a single tear exiting her eye.

Character Profile: Warren Trellen

Age: 62

Rank: Captain of the Scarlet Band, former Mage Instructor in the Scarlet Monastery's Cathedral, former low-ranking member of the Kirin Tor

Affiliation: Captain in the New Scarlet Band, Leader of Warren's Faction of the New Scarlet Band, former Captain of the Coral Company in the Scarlet Band, former Mage Instructor of the Scarlet Monastery, former low-ranking member of the Kirin Tor

Abilities: Warren is a skilled mage, easily the most adept in the Scarlet Band and perhaps one of the strongest who ever served in the Scarlet Monastery. He wields holy magic, though he is able to use arcane, fire, and frost magic; he has, however, sworn to only use holy magic since joining the Scarlet Crusade in order to avoid attracting too much attention. As he studied under some of the greatest mages in Dalaran, it is no surprise that Warren's abilities far surpass most of the mages in the Scarlet Crusade. Unlike most mages, Warren does not carry a wand or staff, having forsaken such objects after his exile from Dalaran.

Appearance: Warren is five feet eleven inches tall and has a slim build, having lost much weight as he aged. His hair is gray with streaks of silver along his temples, and it is kept in a crew-cut. His eyes are brown. He wears a red robe with a Scarlet Crusade tabard over it, though the golden L contains small letters Ds hidden within its curls to mark that he once served in Dalaran.

HES: And so another chapter comes to a close. Warren and many other Scarlet Crusaders sacrificed their lives nobly so that the others could escape and restock. What else lies ahead for them on their way to Tyr's Hand? And what of Sonja's faction?

As always, I apologize for the delay this chapter suffered. I meant to finish it earlier, but I am in the process of traveling and it was hard to find time to write until recently. I hope to have at least one more update before the end of summer, but as always all I can say is that I will do my best. Thanks for reading this chapter, loyal fans! Please leave a review if you have any feedback: positive, negative, or neutral! Thanks in advance!


	15. Sterling Saviors

Chapter 15: Sterling Saviors

The sun rose over the Eastern Plaguelands, its rays scouring shadow from the land as it climbed ever higher into the sickly vermillion sky. The glowing orb soon dominated the sky, banishing the cloud cover that had imprisoned the air over the past few days.

Though most members of Sonja's Faction were still in the process of awakening, Adrian Loksey had been awake for several hours. He sat, alone, atop a stump of a once mighty hickory. In his hands, the scout clutched a dagger and a length of wood scrounged from one of the nearby gnarled trees. Adrian was in the midst of a ritual: he would whittle for a minute, turn to look at the horizon for but a second, then return to his work and the process would begin again.

Supplies were running thin with Sonja's Faction: though they still had a vast supply of mushrooms from the caves, reagents and arrows were hard to come by. Adrian had been making his own shafts since he was a lad, so it was little inconvenience for him to craft his own shot; he always carried several dozen spare arrowhead, feathers, and a fair length of twine, so other than straight sticks there was little he required.

Adrian's ears perked up as the rustling of leaves and cloth swept across his eardrums. Like his father, Adrian had been blessed with excellent hearing, and it was rare that anyone could approach without him noticing.

"Yes, Gareth?" Adrian grumbled, not looking up from his whittling towards his long-time friend.

"How did you know I was coming?" Gareth sighed, his flabby face sinking into an expression of disappointment. "Or even better, how did you know it was me specifically?"

"Just a guess," Adrian lied: he had also been born with an amazing sense of smell and Gareth's sweat always left a familiar and unwelcoming aroma. As Gareth got closer, Adrian wished the Loksey epithet of "canine" was less accurate.

"The troops are moving out now. Everyone is arrayed and ready to go, so I rushed off to find you." Gareth's voice was meek and slow, as if he was trying desperately not to cry.

"Is something the matter?" Adrian muttered, standing as he dropped his finished arrows in his padded leather quiver. He studied Gareth's face, noting it was grave.

"N…no…" Gareth stammered. "It...it's just that…I've lost hope we'll reach Tyr's Hand. Our supplies are dwindling, our morale is even lower, and we have barely the slightest clue where we're heading; we're navigating by the sun, and we cannot fully depend on its accuracy or our course in such a large province!"

Adrian's fist slammed across Gareth's face, forcing the other archer to staggered and clutch his cheek. Gareth coughed twice, blood and two incisors falling from his mouth with the second heave. He turned and gazed at Adrian, fear in his eyes.

"Then lie down and die," Adrian growled, his eyes turning fierce as his gaze bore into his friend's skin. "How did we get this far? Do you remember Inquisitor Baelin? Do you remember his noble words, his great efforts for our cause? We must live! We must continue onward! Whether we are fighting for Lordaeron or simply to kill the undead, or whether we are fighting only for ourselves and to stay alive it does not matter!"

Adrian strode over to Gareth's whimpering form, grabbed his friend's collar and pulled the lad to his feet. "Are you a man? Will you fight because even if we struggle we can make even the slightest scratch on history? Will you live because you _must _live?"

Gareth responded by slamming his own fist into Adrian's jaw. This blow had more weight behind it, and Adrian felt a slight crack in his cheekbones. Adrian turned and smiled at his friend. "That's more like it. Now, let's get moving."

"We're lost, ain't we?" Harold whispered to Sonja as he stood at her side. Their soldiers had been marching for over four hours and, though they had encountered little Scourge resistance, it still seemed that they had no definite destination.

"Not at all, we are perfectly en route to Tyr's Hand," Sonja lied, grinning weakly as she did so. Sonja was a strong-willed, and it was rare she would admit an error, especially one of this magnitude. Currently, her plan was to wander aimlessly until they found some sign of civilization from which, she hoped, it would be possible to get her bearings and discern the location of their final destination.

Sonja squinted her eyes as she gazed into the distance: the sun was almost perfectly overhead, marking mere minutes before noon, giving Sonja an excellent long range view. In the distance, the priest could discern the mountains bordering Quel'thalas, sometimes known as the Granite Guardians to the more provincial folk who once dwelt here. To the west, or so Sonja guessed, of the mountains, Sonja noted a vast forest of massive mushrooms; this area was known as Plaguewood, and though in the shadow of Stratholme, was best avoided.

_Tyr's Hand is most likely to the southeast of our current position,_ Sonja considered. _If, however, I get the angle of march wrong we will walk straight into a well-known Scourge stronghold. It may be best if we head for the mountains and attempt to get a better view of the land, and go from there. _

Rather than indicate her strategy to her warriors, Sonja continued her route of march, hoping her soldiers would not become suspicious.

Adrian and Gareth trudged silently beside the middle of the column, their bows drawn; they had long since come to expect an undead attack at any moment, and even a second wasted could cost them their lives, not to mention derail the Scarlet Band's mission.

The two had not spoken since their exchange of blows hours before, but it seemed a deeper understanding had formed between them in the interim. Without opening their lips, the two had found greater clarity and inner strength.

Illana watched the two scouts from her position in the middle of the mass of Scarlet Crusaders, her eyes drawn inexorably to Adrian's dour face. She wished he would relax, perhaps even reveal his lustrous smile, but alas it seemed this land and their difficult mission had only hardened his heart. The half-elf choked back tears as she continued moving forward; she had long since come to accept that this journey would forever change them all, and the smiling, jovial boy she had met a quarter of a year ago when they left the Scarlet Monastery was no more.

Screams from the front of the column broke Illana's daydream and she instantly snapped her eyes forward. The troops before her, however, were taller than she was, and the mage was unable to see what was going on. Looking for gaps in the formation, Illana struggled to the front of the group, intent to see what was going on.

When Illana finally reached the head of the unit, the half-elf gasped at what she saw: a ring of corpses of her former comrades lay on the ground, arrows set between their eyes. Captain Sonja had already raised a barrier which blocked more projectiles, while Sergeant Harold barked commands, though his voice was full of fear. Herod was busy rushing forward towards an enclave of green-cloaked warriors in the distance.

"_Masa'kala, Quel'dorei_!" Illana screamed her voice echoing over the din of battle. Instantly, the green robed figures halted their barrage of arrows, lowering their bows as Herod continued his mindless charge.

"What in the Light's name did you say, mage?" Sonja turned rapidly towards Illana.

"Never mind that now, just get Champion Herod to stop his rampage! Those people are not our enemies!" Illana cried, breathlessly.

"Herod, by decree of the Scarlet Crusade I order you to halt!" Sonja roared, her voice rising to a volume she had never before used. The red-armored warrior immediately dug his heels into the earth and lowered his axe before turning back towards Sonja.

"These men have assaulted our lines and killed our allies and you ask me to halt?" Herod yelled back, his voice full of blood-mad fury. "Why should I not hack them limb from limb?"

"Because, Sir Herod," Illana offered, her body appearing beside him as she finished her teleportation spell. "These are not men, nor are they our enemies."

"What do you mean, girl?" The berserker's voice was laced with confusion.

At that, the figures dropped their hoods to reveal manes of golden hair that cascaded in ripples down to their upper backs.

"They are High Elves, once allies of the Alliance and still foes of the Scourge," Illana stated. She turned to the group of elves and offered a few quick sentences in Thalassian. The elves were surprised to hear her speak, but replied just as rapidly, their beautiful tongue flowing and ebbing like the tides.

"These few are Rangers and do not speak Common. They ask that we follow them to their lodge of Quel'lithien near the border of Quel'thalas," Illana stated proudly. "They say they will provide us with rations and accommodations, and one even says they have a cartographer who can be of assistance to us."

"Good work," Sonja said smiling, walking up beside Illana and ruffling the girl's hair a bit. The captain then turned to the elves and bowed in respect, a gesture which they returned in kind.

The majority of Sonja's Faction found renewed vigor at this announcement and rushed forward, though a few advanced uneasily.

_Something about this does not seem right, _Herod thought as he stared at the elves and then back at the corpses of the unlucky Scarlet Crusaders who had been slain moments earlier. _They betrayed the Alliance and could just as easily be servants of Arthas. Non-humans are not to be trusted…_

An hour or so later, Sonja's Faction arrived at the High Elven lodge known as Quel'lithien. It was a fairly sizable structure, built perfectly into the side of one of the mountains ringing the former Elven homeland of Quel'thalas. The building was comprised of thick timber, its roof shingled exquisitely with rounded, emerald tiles. Above the lodge, terraces jutted out of the mountain where several dozen High Elves toiled within rows of crops; this ingenious idea of terrace-farming awed the humans more than they would admit and most found their eyes inexorably drawn to the makeshift fields.

As the Scarlet Crusaders came closer to the lodge, they noticed a score of High Elf soldiers clad in the traditional green and gold garb of Silvermoon ringing the wide entrance. The Elves that had met with the humans rushed forward and hastily explained the situation, at which point the guardians parted ways. From the center of their ranks, a single Elf emerged: he was half a head taller than the rest, and he wore silver armor; his hair was also noticeably darker than the others, almost onyx, a hue rarely found among their kind. Two shimmering scabbards on this Elf's belt marked him as a figure of high rank, and some of Scarlet Crusaders felt the urge to bow in his presence, though all stayed resolute.

"Welcome to Quel'lithien," the recent arrival stated, his Common flawless. "I am Hawkspear, Ranger Lord of this Lodge. You have trespassed on our land, but my scouts inform me that you are merely travelers wishing to stay the night. I have also been told that you are enemies of the undead, and in that case we share a common enemy. My people here toil endlessly to keep this small patch of ground free of undead; we cannot hope to eradicate the undead, but at the very least we will act as a thorn in the heel of Arthas the Betrayer."

Sonja walked forward, approaching the Ranger Lord. She bowed before speaking. "My thanks, Sir Hawkspear. You may call me Sonja; I am the leader of this expedition. My soldiers and I are traveling and we only wish to stay three days. In exchange for you kindness, I will gift you with weapons and armor retrieved from our fallen soldiers; I am unsure if it will be useful to you, but as you can expect we have little to offer."

"Pay it no mind," Hawkspear said. "Come you all must be exhausted. Follow me inside; this building was meant to house a border garrison of over one thousand troops, but currently we only number seven hundred so there are rooms to spare for most of your men."

"This is too great a kindness, we shall forever be in your debt," Sonja stated. She beckoned towards her troops, and they instantly rushed forward, their eyes alight at the promise of lodging away from the elements and perhaps even proper meals.

Illana's face was brightest of all; the half-elf could not stop speaking Thalassian, addressing even the most dour-faced of the rangers. She had learned much: the members of the lodge had actually created a wide perimeter which the undead steered clear of, their leaders having long since learned it was a waste of troops. Now, the elves focused on forays into the surrounding lands, killing what they could before retreating hastily. Their guerrilla tactics and league of priests meant that there were few casualties.

Some of the elves had also informed Illana that the lodge possessed a small foundry and it would be possibly to repair the weapons and armor of the Scarlet Crusaders. This entire event seemed too good to be true: finally, the Scarlet Band would have several days free of fear.

The Scarlet Crusaders hurried after their elven hosts through the halls of Quel'Lithien. After a quick series of turns, they arrived in a spacious room with a high ceiling that boasted rows of beds made of birch and covered with green quilts and cushions stuffed with down. Many of the ragged warriors dropped onto their pallets immediately and drifted off to sleep, while others attempted to speak with the elves; Illana had, in fact, sought out Ranger Lord Hawkspear himself, and the two entered into a deep conversation in rapid Thalassian.

"I assume you are not a pureblood," Hawkspear began as the two conversed in the hallway outside the chamber assigned to the humans.

"No, only my father was an elf," Illana stated, "but even since my youth he spoke to me in Thalassian, and I was able to practice the tongue with some of my elven tutors in Dalaran."

"Ah I see, well, we are happy to have you all," Hawkspear replied. "And do not worry, we bear no ill-will against your organization."

Illana paused, choosing her words carefully before replying. "You…know of us?"

"Few can pass through Lordaeron these days and not know of the Scarlet Crusade," Hakwspear answer, his tone neutral. "Your forces rose rapidly to prominence and infamy in these lands. For now, however, we share the common enemy of the Scourge; some fools who inhabit these lands would rather fight amongst themselves than join forces against the undead, but I see that such a course of action will only hasten our inevitable ruin."

"Inevitable?" Illana's mouth hung on the word.

"Do you honestly think we can halt the advance of the Scourge merely by staying here?" Hawkspear let out a single grunting laugh before speaking again. "As we are now, we merely blunt the actions of the Scourge and delay their victory. Only by gathering together and launching an attack on the Lich King himself can we hope to triumph."

"But…such an idea is suicide!" Illana said, her voice quivering. "Can we honestly…?"

"No, not as any of us are now," Hawkspear answered, shaking his head, "though that is not to say I've given up hope. I know one day a leader shall emerge to lead an expedition to Northrend and halt the Lich King's reign of terror once and for all or, die heroically in the process. Either way, staying here does little. For now, my people have little choice; we swore to guard the border of Quel'thalas until our death, and even if it is overrun by undead we shall continue to do so until the day comes when we can reclaim our homeland."

Illana smiled and walked closer to Hawkspear, placing her arms around him in a tight embrace. "I wish you luck, Sir Hawkspear." She then turned and began to walk back towards her assigned quarters.

Hawkspear hesitated momentarily, then called after the young mage. "Lady Illana…please, get your Captain and then return here. I have something for her. There is also something I would like to give you, a gift between Quel'dorei."

Adrian and Gareth slunk alongside the western wall of Quel'Lithien Lodge, practicing their expert stealth as they approached their target. Less than twenty yards away, a group of Elven Rangers were in the midst of marksmanship practice, firing arrows one after another into a series of canvas targets. The two humans quieted their breathing, knowing that the elves were masters of infiltration and likely to hear their approach.

Their fear was confirmed mere seconds later. The archers turned, in unison, and stared directly at the position of the lads. They all started to move towards the Scarlet Scouts, but one, a female taller than the others with hair the color of wheat, raised her hand and whispered something in their flowing language, halting the advance of the others. She, alone, approached the two onlookers, her eyes narrowed as she addressed them in slightly broken and shaky Common.

"Watching, eh?" The ranger snapped, gloved hands on hips as she moved her face back and forth between the two youths who gulped and pressed their backs against the wooden wall behind them for support.

"S…sorry, madam," Gareth managed to mutter. "We were just interested in your archery display."

"We meant no harm by it!" Adrian cut in. "We are archers too and we had heard of your vast skills and wished to study them from afar!"

The ranger smirked and beckoned for the two to follow her. "You are allies against Scourge. Therefore, we will show you some things. Already, warriors of ours aid your soldiers in training. Lord Hawkspear told us to aid you."

"We are forever grateful, m'lady," Adrian stated.

"Call me Quel'yar," the ranger replied, slinging her bow off her shoulders and removing two arrows from her quiver and handed one to each of the humans. "Come, show us what you can do."

Gareth and Adrian looked warily at one another before drawing their own bows. Each studied the elven arrow he had been given briefly: the shaft was slimmer than the traditional ammunition used by humans, and it felt a bit lighter. The arrowhead was cross-shaped at the base, almost as if it was two traditional arrowheads fused together. The fletching was also vastly different: the quills were longer and there were far more of them than would be found on a human arrow.

After viewing their missiles, Adrian and Gareth each took a moment to look at the targets the elves had been firing at. They were a fair distance from the squares of canvas, at least sixty yards away; though both men had hit enemies at this range before, they had never aimed for something as precise as a bulls-eye at this range. Both nodded reassuringly to one another, drew their bows, and let their arrows fly.

Adrian's shot was far off course, the missile passing the target by at least two yards to the right. Gareth, on the other hand, managed to strike the target, albeit barely: his arrow stuck at the very top of canvas, barely nicking the furthest red ring from the center.

While humans would laugh at such a shoddy display of skills, the elves kept silent before conversing in whispers at the marksmanship they had witnessed.

Quel'yar turned to her two new students and addressed them hastily. "You have much to learn," she began. "First, study our arrows. Next, we shall show you tricks of shooting. Finally, if you pass our tests, we shall give you elven bows. There is little time before you all leave: let us hope this is not too much in too short a time."

Gareth smiled as he heard of the potential gifts they could gain, but Adrian looked somewhat sullen. He ran his hands over the bow in his hand, feeling the worn stave and the tightly wound string. _Must I abandon the last remnant of my father to become a great archer…?_

"Where is he taking us?" Sonja asked Illana as the two of them followed Lord Hawkspear down a series of staircases that led deep below the elven lodge.

"I'm not sure," Illana replied, without even bothering to ask Hawkspear. The elf had a determined glaze across his eyes: Illana had seen this expression cross the faces of her elven tutors, and she knew that it was impossible to get a clear answer from an elf in this state.

Eventually, the three of them reached a basement level lit by a series of enchanted beacons that gleamed on the walls. Before them stretched a short corridor, a broad iron door painted with glowing azure sigils sparkling at its end. Hawkspear strode directly forward to the portal and placed his hand on its center, stating a password in Thalassian which caused the symbols to cease their luminescence and the hinges to swing open.

Lord Hawkspear spoke a single word as he beckoned to the two women: "Enter."

With some trepidation, the woman and the half-elf stepped through the door and stood beside Hawkspear in a cramped chamber. Symbols on the ceiling, glowing the same hue as those that marked the portal, illuminated the room. Along the walls, a series of hooks and iron rings held glittering objects in place; upon closer inspection, the visitors noted that the room was an armory, the treasures lining the walls finely crafted weapons.

"This is where our most power objects are housed," Hawkspear began, sweeping his right hand to indicate the plethora of armaments. You will notice that most of our shock troops carry some form of magical weapon or trinket, and as such our stock is low. There are, however, objects here that remain, that my mentor instructed me were not for the hands of the Quel'dorei; he told me they were meant for 'heroes clad in crimson.'" Hawkspear paused as he finished speaking the quotation. "Those were his final words. Ever since, this room has been sealed, and, though I feel that I cannot give away all that is here; I still must be wary of your fellows, but the two of you at least seem pure of heart."

Hawkspear turned to a glimmering shaft of silvery ore hanging from chains on the left wall. He removed the staff and handed it to Sonja; instantly, the woman felt energized, as if her attunement to magical energy had increased sevenfold merely by grasping this object. She studied the staff in her hands, noting runes carved into the shaft and a glimmering sapphire forged into the tip.

"Thank you, noble sir," Sonja said, bowing in respect. Hawkspear ignored her thanks and turned his attention to a sheathed dagger hanging from two hooks. He removed the weapon from its place on the wall and gifted it to Illana. The half-elf wasted no time unsheathing the weapon, gasping as she studied the glinting blade.

"This is…no it cannot be," the mage began, turning the weapon over in her hands as she studied the intricate etchings along the blade and the runes on the hilt. "A blade of the _Niel'dorei_?"

"You have a good eye, _Chel'dorei_," Hawkspear declared. "It is one of the last in existence."

Sonja blinked her eyes rapidly and looked back and forth between Illana and Lord Hawkspear. "If I may…" the priest-captain began, "what exactly is a _Niel'dorei_ and what makes it so special?"

"The _Niel'dorei_ were a group of the finest mages ever to live on Azeroth," Illana began. "They were the elite of the elite in Quel'thalas. Their membership included only the five finest mages in the world, and it was necessary to kill a member to enter."

"What happened to them?" Sonja asked.

"Like many members of our race, their greed for magic blinded them," Hawkspear interjected. "Though they wielded great power, they felt confined by the Thalassian nobility and so demanded they be crowned emperors or they would drown our homeland with a colossal tidal wave. With no other option, the rulers of Quel'thalas agreed and the _Niel'dorei_ ruled for three years as an oligarchy.

"They were, however, not without faults," Hawkspear continued, his tone darkening. "They grew jealous of one another, each desiring to rule alone, and so eventually they came to blows. A great magical battle occurred, each wizard firing spectacular spells the likes of which will never be seen again. The great strain on the flowing energies of the world from this conflict caused a magical backlash and, to put it bluntly, the _Niel'dorei_ exploded, their bodies unable to handle the massive reserves of power they called upon.

"The _Niel'dorei_ had no pupils and wrote no tomes, but one legacy of theirs still persists," Hawkspear stated, his voice growing neutral once more. "Ten years before their bid for leadership of Quel'thalas, each mage forged two daggers and infused them with potent magic. Most were lost over the years: Shivner's Eye was stolen by Troll nomads; Telec's Heart fell into the pits of Blackrock Mountain along with the body of Serenun, its wielder; the list goes on…"

"Of the ten, only three still exist today," Hawkspear continued. "One is wielded by a mage named Arus Fateshaper who resides in Stormwind, while another is held by Magus Exerum Voltrex of the Kirin Tor. And, of course, the last one, known as Rigval's Mouth, has now passed to you, young Illana."

"I'm…speechless," Illana replied. "This is the greatest honor I have ever been given in my life. Ten thousand thanks, Lord Hawkspear. I shall cherish it always."

"It is no problem," Hawkspear replied. "As my mentor said, it was not meant for my people. That dagger is a conundrum: elven mages can activate it but cannot draw upon its power, while human mages cannot even seem to wake it from its slumber but seem to feel magical attunement with it in hand. When I met you I knew you were the one to wield it. If you even kill one member of the Scourge with the aid of that dagger I will know my choice was right."

_I guess I was just a lucky piece of the prophecy…_Sonja thought as Hawkspear continued speaking.

Without warning, an elven soldier wearing tanned leather armor and a green traveling cloak rushed into the room crying the name of his lord. Hawkspear immediately ran into the hall, greeting the runner hastily. The two conversed rapidly in Thalassian for a minute before Hawkspear turned to the two Scarlet Crusaders.

"We must move quickly: something horrible has occurred that concerns your organization," Hawkspear growled.

Without thinking twice, Sonja and Illana sprinted up the stairs behind the elf.

"Back you pale skinned bastards!" Herod roared, stomping his boots and waving his axe. "Who wants to be next?" Blood dripped from Herod's axe, and lying at his feet was a gored elven swordsman. The lithe warrior shuddered slightly, liquid oozing from his chest. Priests attempted to approach, but Herod's threats held even these elder casters at bay.

Hawkspear, Sonja, and Illana rushed out of the lodge, appalled at what they saw. Hawkspear hesitated for but a moment, while Sonja, without thinking, rushed directly towards Herod.

"What the fuck have you done?" Sonja screeched, her voice cracking as rage consumed the normally calm woman. Chains of light erupted from the tip of her newly acquired staff and wrapped around Herod's limbs, pulling the Scarlet Champion to the earth. Though he struggled against his bonds, the magic was too strong and he was unable to move.

Sonja immediately turned to the injured elf and cast a spell of healing, the bleeding stopping as she finished the spell. She rose and turned towards the assembled crowd. "What happened here?"

"A sparring session got out of hand," an elven soldier from the crowd stated. "That man started out fighting normally, but eventually went wild, hacking at Jerrell even though he cried for an end to the contest."

Sonja turned towards the bound Herod. "Damn you, Herod. This is _not _something Whitemane would stand for. These elves are our allies; they have given us a place to stay and provided us with provisions."

Herod managed to strain against the bonds with his neck, twisting his head and spitting towards the elf Sonja had recently healed. "These inhuman scoundrels betrayed the Alliance, they left just when we needed them most! Yet now they grieve for the fall of Quel'thalas; had they acted faster and aided us, we could have returned the favor and prevented the catastrophes that have befallen both our races. Instead they sit here, their selective memory allowing them to forget their failures of friendship. Now, they nurse wounds instead of acting, their weakness apparent. I merely wished to expose their fallacy and goad them to become stronger; had I truly wished to kill that elf, his head would be at your feet."

"Be that as it may you have acted in the extreme," Sonja growled before turning to Hawkspear. "I thank you for your hospitality, but in light of this event I will not press further upon your kindness. We shall leave tomorrow morning; if you wish we shall pitch camp far from the lodge."

Hawkspear shook his head. "No, rest in our beds for the evening. I shall not blame you for the shortsightedness of one man. I cannot even fully blame him: our race did turn our back on yours in a time of desperation, and in turn we were punished by the gods. If you wish, stay as long as you like."

"No, I cannot impose that much," Sonja answer, unable to look Hawkspear in the eye. "We shall take your offer of quarters but nevertheless we shall depart tomorrow. I shall personally guard this man and ensure he causes no more trouble."

Silence filled the area as the onlookers departed one by one. Sonja turned back towards Herod, her eyes narrowing. _Once the Scarlet Crusade stood for a single idea: cleansing the land of the undead. There were members of all races in our ranks…but sadly as time went on they died or were set upon by our more xenophobic troops. I fear now, however, that our true ideal is masked by the hatred displayed by Herod…most of my men and I are truly in the minority. Can I hope to return the Scarlet Crusade to its noble roots?_

Adrian's fingers ached as he struggled to draw his bowstring yet again. Knowing their limited time with the elves had become even shorter, he and Gareth had immediately returned to archery practice. Every few seconds one of the boys loosed an arrow, all the while listening to called commands from their elven teachers.

The two youths' skills had improved surprisingly over the few hours of instruction: even small tips from the elven rangers had sought to improve their accuracy, power, and speed of drawing the bow. Both had even managed to hit the ring around the target's center, a feat which none of the elves had expected them to accomplish so quickly. Yet, neither noticed these small improvements, each striving madly to hit the bull's-eye on the targets that felt miles away.

It was already well past midnight, and much of the Scarlet Band were already asleep within the lodge. Luckily for Gareth and Adrian, a half-moon illuminated the area giving them a decent view of the area. As the minutes passed, more and more rangers retired to their beds, growing bored of watching the humans shoot arrows to little effect.

At last, only Quel'yar stood watching the two, her face placid as she choked back the urge to grin. _These two humans are more skilled than I gave them credit for, _the ranger pondered. _I doubt they will succeed this night, but even so they are deserving of reward. _

"Humans, halt your firing!" Quel'yar called to the two. Both turned around: their faces were laced with exhaustion and they fought to keep their eyes open. The female elf approached them slowly, the two immediately springing upright as if to imply they had boundless reserves of energy left.

"You have both done enough for tonight," the ranger continued. "You should head to your beds. But, before that," Quel'yar reached into a haversack she carried and handed each boy a cluster of elven arrows and a stout bow, "I bestow these gifts upon you."

"Thank you so much, m'am," Gareth said, saluting and smiling as he looked at his newly acquired weapon. The stave was fine lacquered yew wood grown in Quel'thalas itself. The string was woven of fine hairs that created a thick and reliable mesh.

Adrian placed in the arrows in his quiver but held the bow back out the Quel'yar. "I am sorry, Lady Quel'yar, but I cannot accept this bow. The bow I hold was given to me by my father and has been passed down in our family for five generations; I cannot abandon it."

Quel'yar chuckled, grabbing the bow back from Adrian. "You are foolish, young human, but I admire your sentimentality. I wish you luck relying on your ancestors' weapon." With that, Quel'yar turned towards the lodge, the two scouts smiling at one another before hastily following after her.

The morning came hastily, the sun peeking weakly over the distant mountains. One by one, the members of Sonja's Faction walked lazily out of Quel'Lithien Lodge, shaking off a perfect sleep that was all too short.

Sonja herself had not slept for one minute, and instead had spent the night watching Herod and reinforcing the magical bonds around him. She attempted speaking to him, but the juggernaut remained silent: perhaps he felt guilty; perhaps he was building his rage for the perfect moment to strike.

"I'm going to release you now, Herod," Sonja stated as she approached the muscled man. He made no indication that he had heard her and continued to lay still. "We will leave this area immediately. I trust there will be no problems."

Herod's silence persisted and, realizing she would receive no reply, Sonja slowly loosened the bands of light constricting his limbs. The Scarlet Champion stood slowly and trudged past Sonja, not even looking directly at his commander.

Sonja sighed: it was clear Herod was a skilled warrior, yet he could become wildly unruly in the wrong situation. All she could do was pray he would put their cause ahead of his personal vendettas and prejudices as they entered the next stage of their journey.

Sonja approached the ranks of her troops, smiling as she noticed how much more refreshed and at ease all of them looked. "Soldiers," Sonja began, "yesterday, one of the elven cartographers gifted me with a fine map," at that, she removed the rolled parchment from the folds of her robe. "It seems we are only two days' march from Tyr's Hand if we follow the correct path and avoid confrontation. We are closer than ever to our goal; let us have a cheer for our noble hosts!"

"Long live the High Elves!" and other similar slogans erupted from the lines of crimson clad troops. Only one figure, Herod, did not raise his voice in thanks.

"Now let us travel onward, for the glory of the Scarlet Crusade!" Sonja cried.

"Glory to the Scarlet Crusade!" Her underlings echoed back, and with that started their march anew.

"Things have been too serene for these parts," Elric Isana muttered as his eyes scanned the horizon. In the distance, pinpricks of shadow jutted into the image of the rising sun, these figures a grim reminder that this was still a land of the dead.

"We should be thankful," Aurora Cronos replied darkly. "As much as I'd love to crack more skulls, we are taking too damn long to reach Tyr's Hand. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can make a decent dent in Arthas's forces."

Elric nodded to his commander, making no comment on her words. In the last few days, Aurora had become somewhat more pacifistic, attempting to avoid even small contingents of undead that, normally, she would have ordered her soldiers to attack. He was unsure if she was telling the truth about the need for haste or if their dwindling troops had given her pause.

Delilah Corwin marched a yard away from Aurora and Elric, pondering about the Scarlet Band's current situation. Their numbers had dwindled significantly, and those that remained were exhausted. Yet, it seemed fire still burned in the souls of all its members, for surely they were close to Tyr's Hand. Aurora had informed the contingent that she expected them to reach the city within a few days, assuming they avoided conflicts and kept a decent pace.

Boots stomped against the rough earth, signaling the arrival of a breathless scout, he face covered with sweat and grit. He pushed through the crowds of soldiers, forcing his way towards Aurora. Upon reaching the Inquisitor, the scout belted out a hasty series of words, each one coming erratically, a detached string of disconnected syllables exiting his lips.

"Scourge…surrounded…thousands…here…" the scout panted, his knees shaking as he fought against the pain in his legs.

"Damn it, you worm, just spit it out!" Aurora growled, her face alighting with wrath.

The scout took several breaths and began again. "My Lady, we have been surrounded by Scourge forces. Our outer scout contingents have already been overrun, and our left flank started to buckle. They…ambushed us! I ran here as quickly as I could but…"

"But nothing," Aurora growled, slapping the scout across the face. "Pick up your bow and return to your post. Elric, follow him to the left flank and try to rally the troops. Corwin, move to the right flank and assess the situation. I will check our rear and make sure it holds. All soldiers here, hold your ground. No matter how many enemies we face, they are piles of worthless bones; crush them _all_!"

As the three rushed off, undead seemed to emerge from everywhere, blocking the advance of the Scarlet Band. Wave upon wave of skeletal bodies stretched into the distance, a column of jabbering horrors shambling in a horrendous parody of the living.

"We…we will not survive this…" one of the more fearful Scarlet Crusaders said, shivering. His spear quaked in his hands as he jabbed towards the onrushing menace, the point biting into the chest of a zombie moments before a crypt fiend emerged from its burrow beneath the soil and swallowed him whole. More and more of the arachnids rose from the ground, the breaking the front line who had concentrated their full might on the miles of troops before them.

The left flank fared little better. By the time Captain Elric arrived, the undead had already forced their way deep into the ranks of the Scarlet Crusaders. The soldiers attempted to hold the line, swordsmen and spearmen forming a massive shieldwall in hopes of blunting the advance of the Scourge forces while archers and mages picked off what foes they could. Alas, the front lines of these warriors began to buckle under the massed force of hundreds of undead bodies, the sheer weight of the foe smashing through the Scarlet Band's lines.

Elric drew his crossbow and loaded it with a swift series of motions, aiming hastily before firing, successfully skewering an abomination through the skull, sending the massive monster stumbling backward. As the beast tumbled, it crushed the bodies of half a dozen ghouls and other hideous creatures. The scout captain wasted no time, reloading his weapon and taking aim yet again, all the while admiring the tenacity of the troops: even if it seemed they would all die, no one made the indication of abandoning his or her post.

Delilah charged forward alongside a contingent of troops armed for close combat. The right flank had met resistance, to be sure, but it seemed the undead here were led by less capable necromancers. Some of their foes shambled so weakly that they collapsed before even reaching the human lines, while those that did were cut down without much trouble. This flank, however, consisted of some of the weaker troops of the Scarlet Band; as a result, even these foes seemed to have met success wearing down the Scarlet forces.

"Hold the line! Blade and bludgeon armed soldiers in the front, polearm wielding warriors in the second line! Blunt their advance!" Delilah called out. She was amazed at her own military expertise: the past few months had taught her much about combat, and she was a quick study of the tactics used by her superiors.

By the time Aurora arrived at the rear of the Scarlet Band's formation, her forces were already in shambles. Massive animated statues moved through the lines of skeletons and ghouls, necromancers riding atop these simulacra and channeling powers through these enchanted obelisks. Each moment, several score new undead troops broke through the surface of the soil, their rusted armor clanking menacingly as they moved pushed against their allies standing before them, the massive waves of skeletal soldiers whittling through the rearguard.

Aurora growled angrily as she pushed through the lines of Scarlet Crusaders rushing to the front, intending to sell their lives dearly for their cause. The Inquisitor looked into the distance, horrified as she watched her troops mangled, crushed, eviscerated, and consumed by their foes, some of them unlucky enough to be immediately resurrected again to fight against their former friends and allies.

A massive aura grew around Aurora, golden energy consuming her form and coursing through every inch of her skin. She stared at the endless lines of enemy soldiers as she reached the front of the force, hefting _Uther's Arm_ defiantly as the next wave of undead came within striking distance.

"Come, you miserable curs! I will not let you strike us down when we are so close to our goal, when we are mere miles from reaching our final destination. Yes, we will not cease our quest; even if but one of us lives, that human will work to ensure your ultimate demise. So come at me, and face the final retribution. This is our battle, this is our struggle. Come and taste the tempered steel of our resolve!"

Aurora dug her heels into the earth and raised her hammer. A sickening crack alerted the paladin to her first kill, as chips of bone erupted from the fractured skull of the first foe she dispatched. Her aura blazed, wrapping around her hammer and giving it extra potency as she continued to maul foe after foe. The soldiers around Aurora were inspired by their commander's awesome presence, and fought ever harder: priests rapidly knitted the wounds of their comrades, warriors cut into their foes with blade and point, while mages countered the spells of the necromancers before hurling balls of holy energy to slay the dark casters.

Yet, for all the resolve and fighting prowess of their commanders, the forces of the Scarlet Crusade buckled under the weight of the Scourge forces that pressed them from all sides. Little by little, the humans were pushed backwards, moving inexorably towards the center of their formation. They bunched together, hoping to repel their foes, the shieldwall tightening as more and more men fell to the grisly horde.

As their forces were pressed tighter together, the Scarlet Crusaders became ever more desperate. They fought wildly, wide sword swings leaving exposed shoulders, unfocused blasts of magic resulting in friendly casualties. Soon, perhaps by some fluke of fate, Aurora, Delilah and Elric were pushed close together. Each gave the other a slightly distressed glance, attempting to mask their fear with confidence and determination.

"Fuck, looks like we'll have to fight our way through more than we've bargained for," Aurora growled.

"We can break through these undead," Delilah lied as she turned her eyes briefly to the mangled corpses of Scarlet Crusaders on the ground, before focusing her gaze on a charging skeletal beast that resembled a mixture of canine and equine.

Elric said nothing as he slung his crossbow across his back and drew his bow, loading two arrows and aiming at a crypt fiend before sending both projectiles into its bloated abdomen.

Delilah and Aurora's hammers danced past one another, one rising while the other fell and vise-versa, creating pistons of punishment to finish off the ghouls and zombies that charged towards the two paladins.

But the seas of undead swelled rather than receded. Soldiers squinted into the distance, hoping to see the end of these innumerable hordes, but the fields of autonomous corpses seemed to have no defined zenith; it was as if the entire continent was covered with bodies.

Delilah winced as a rusted spear point sliced her left arm. She wheeled back, kicking her zombified foe in the chest, sending the creature tumbling back into the masses of his fellows. The paladin panted, her blonde hair matted with sweat around her brow and hanging limp around her shoulders.

_I cannot go on like this, _Delilah thought as she struggled to keep her Devotion Aura active. _How long do I have left? _She scanned the lines of her allies, noticing the fatigue in their eyes. _How much longer can any of us survive? Is this the end of the Scarlet Band? Oh Baelin…we will all die because we lacked a tough leader like you. I suppose I'll see you in the Great Beyond…_

Suddenly, trumpets sounded in the distance. Every figure seemed to stand still as the resonance of the sound waves coursed across the old plains of Lordaeron. Eyes scanned the distance for signs of the sound, for neither the Scarlet Band nor the undead carried horns.

Silver armor glinted in the light of the midday sun, these argent pinpricks slowly moving towards the rear of the undead formation, forming into a triangular formation as they charged the Scourge lines. The mighty wedge crushed all opposition, the silver pyramid scattering the burgundy masses before it. This new force moved closer and closer to the Scarlet Band, forcing aside undead miraculously.

Within minutes, these saviors were visible as more than mere flashes of color. They consisted of a contingent of over three hundred cavaliers and a thousand more foot soldiers wielding all manner of weaponry. They wore silver armor and their faces were set in expression of determination of strength.

"Who are they?" Delilah asked, light in her eyes as she noticed the figures of their potential salvation.

"The Argent Dawn," Aurora's voice was filled with hatred, "an organization that claims _they _are the true successors of the Silver Hand…Let's kill as many undead as we can before these bastards hog the glory."

With their rear crushed, the undead forces were quickly routed by the arriving Argent Dawn forces. As the remaining undead were cut down or dispersed, a tall Argent Dawn paladin riding a roan charger rode up to Aurora.

"Madame, where might I find the leader of this force?" The man asked, his voice surprisingly serene.

"You're speaking to her," Aurora replied gruffly. "Thank you for your aid, but I would kindly like you and your men to leave here or we will have…trouble."

"Heh, feisty and rude I see," the man answered. "It wouldn't hurt you to get off your high horse and listen to me."

"Look who's talking," Aurora shot back. "Anyway, we've no further need of aid. Your…people…and ours do not mesh." It was clear to all assembled that it was taking all of this woman's resolve not to draw her hammer and assault the man before her.

"Your insults are not appreciated, so my men and I will take our leave," the man stated. "Though our organization hold different philosophies, we seek the same goal. If we worked together we might…"

Suddenly, an idea flashed through Aurora's brain. "Yes, we accept your offer of alliance," the female interrupted the speaker. "We hope to reach Tyr's Hand; would you be able to provide us an escort?"

The man seemed stunned at her sudden acceptance, but he nodded. "It would be our honor. We can lead you to Tyr's Hand and then turn north ourselves back to Light's Hope." He dismounted and offered his hand to Aurora. "My name is Carrick Johnstone."

Aurora shook his hand, fighting the urge to crush his phalanges. "I am Aurora Cronos. _Pleasure_ to make your acquaintance…"

Character Profile: Lord Hawkspear

Age: 68

Rank: Ranger Lord of Quel'Lithien Lodge, former Ranger Captain of Quel'thalas

Affiliation: Leader of the Quel'Lithien Contingent, former Ranger of Quel'thalas

Abilities: Hawkspear is an excellent archer able to hit the eye of a Goblin at over three hundred paces. Additionally, he is skilled at wielding two blades.

Appearance: Hawkspear is six feet six inches tall and has a slender build. He has hair of dark burgundy, almost black, that extends below his shoulders and is occasionally tied in a ponytail. He wears green and gold armor, as well as a green cloak.

HES: And so ends another chapter; there have been many new developments both for Sonja's Faction and the New Scarlet Band. What awaits them in the future as both continue towards Tyr's Hand? Thanks for the reviews; I really appreciate them! If you're able, please review this chapter. Thanks so much!


	16. Blood of the Conqueror

Chapter 16: Blood of the Conqueror 

"This is making me uneasy," Delilah muttered to herself as she scanned the faces of the Argent Dawn soldiers flanking the other members of the Scarlet Band and herself. Most of the other soldiers, both Scarlet Crusaders and Argent Dawn troops alike, shared Delilah's uncertainty; they eyed each other warily, stealing furtive glances before looking away hastily.

There were, however, the occasional conversations between members of the two anti-undead organizations. A Scarlet Scout smiled as he encountered his cousin who he had assumed died with the Silver Hand, an Argent Dawn cavalier eyed a young maid of the Scarlet Band with lust in his eyes before offering her a bronze trinket on his wrist.

Through all of this, Aurora kept stolid. The other Scarlet Crusaders could sense her annoyance and unease, but she gave no outward indication of any displeasure. The Inquisitor set her eyes forward, speaking only when it was necessary to inform their escort exactly where they were headed.

"How much longer do expect it will take, Inquisitor?" Delilah asked, approaching her superior. Aurora did not turn her head towards the youthful Marshal, content instead to let the girl stare at her rivers of ebony hair.

"If all goes well, we shall see the walls of Tyr's Hand by the day's end," Aurora stated. "I do not intend to stop our march until we arrive."

Delilah smiled for a second, before adumbrating her joy behind a gruff expression. "Good." _At last…we will finally reach our destination. Oh Baelin…if only you were here to see this mission through to its end. Soon, we can take the next step and cleanse our lands once and for all. Surely, we can inspire the garrison to move forward, unless they already have. _For the first time in weeks, Delilah felt some degree of contentment.

"Quit daydreaming, Corwin," Aurora snapped, waving her gauntleted hand before the listless eyes of her charge. Aurora shifted closer beside Delilah and lowered her voice to a whisper as she continued. "Stay on your guard. These Argent Dawn types preach about unity and brotherhood, but there's been more than one occasion in the past where they slaughtered members of the Scarlet Crusade or left our comrades to die before hordes of Scourge and Forsaken. If you see any sign of malicious intent, take action immediately."

"Yes, Inquisitor," Delilah whispered back, scanning hastily across the silver armored cadre of soldiers sprinkled throughout the lines of the Scarlet Band. Almost without a thought, Delilah posed a deadly question. "Do I have leave to use force?"

"Of course," Aurora answered, contorting her face as she tried desperately to choke down her laughter. "You really are starting to understand the way things work, Corwin." Aurora moved closer and cupped her hand to Delilah's ear, lowering her voice to an even quieter susurration. "I've traveled to Tyr's Hand at least half a dozen times before, and never has the road been clear of undead. When we get closer, I plan to order an attack. The foolish and glory-loving Argent Dawn will move ahead and keep the Scourge occupied, giving us time to enter the city gates unopposed." Aurora pulled away, suppressing the smile her face longed to display. "Until then, stay alert."

Delilah nodded and then revolved back to face forward. This turn of events truly was interesting: Aurora trusted her with such a key secret as if it was nothing. In weeks past, Delilah would have assumed the Inquisitor was lying to her to fulfill her own ends, but something about the way Aurora spoke showed that her words were true.

A strange feeling moved through Delilah's heart as she continued to consider Aurora's words. Delilah knew little of the Argent Dawn, yet felt no remorse about Aurora's plan. Were these men not humans with the same goal as the Scarlet Crusade? The answer, of course, was yes. But even so, Delilah realized, the Scarlet Band had no other option at this juncture.

_Sacrifices are necessary if we are to defeat the Lich King,_ Delilah considered as her eyes fell upon the dour faces of the Argent Dawn one by one. _It is more important that members of a united front survive; it will be the Scarlet Crusade that wrenches the Throne of Icecrown from Arthas's grasp and hurls his decaying corpse into the frozen wastes. _

A distance away from Delilah, towards the front left flank of the formation, Captain Elric Isana strolled beside ten of his best marksmen. Earlier the day, Aurora had personally spoken to Elric, her speech nonchalant as Argent Dawn soldiers paced on both sides of the two officers. During the chat, Aurora dropped a small scrap of paper in such a way that none save one with eyes as trained as Elric's would notice it. As their conversation about weather conditions and potential undead attacks finished, Elric placed his boot atop the paper. Aurora winked and left. When he had a moment, Elric bent down as if to adjust his bootstrap, carefully picking up the note and hiding it in his palm. He opened the document, read hastily, crumpled it up and tossed it into a patch of marshy ground.

Now, the mission written on that note flashed through Elric's head. _Make sure to encourage the Argent Dawn soldiers to march at the front of the column. Keep an eye on their leaders: assassinate if the need arises._ This was a command Elric would follow to the letter.

Sarah Brightwater, one of the archers accompanying Elric, shifted uneasily, tilting her head to and fro as she surveyed the area. Her pupils flashed between the Scarlet Band, the Argent Dawn troops, and the barren expanse of the Eastern Plaguelands before them. Sarah had been on edge ever since the arrival of the Argent Dawn, especially their leader, the paladin Carrick Johnstone.

"C…captain," Sarah stammered. "Do…do we really have to kill the men of the Argent Dawn?" Though not much younger than her commanding officer, Sarah's voice shuddered like that of a schoolgirl on her first day of lessons and her soil hued irises shuddered, desperately trying to hold back tears.

"We carry out our mission to the letter," Elric replied without even glancing at his underling. "That is the way it has always been, that is the way it always will be. You swore loyalty to the Scarlet Crusade, did you not?"

"Yes…" Sarah answered, her face sinking into her chest. "But…"

"If things go as planned, we will not have to lift a finger," Elric answered, his voice stolid and neutral. "If, however, the moment arises, I expect you to act."

"Yes, Captain," the archer answered, trying to force her voice not to quaver. Sarah's eyes turned to Carrick, the noon sunlight reflecting off of his silver pauldrons and falling upon the faces of the men around him; it seemed as if halos of pure justice encircled their heads, and the entire unit surrounding Carrick seemed to appear as a ring of purity.

_Forget the past, _Sarah told herself as she strained her eyes against the blinding light to focus on the Argent Dawn commander, studying every inch of his personage with her keen eyes. _Remember instead what the undead did to you, and what these people did for you in return. The Scarlet Crusade was your only light during your darkest hour…where was he then?_

Sarah sighed and turned her eyes away from Carrick Johnstone's handsome face, ignoring the lush mane of platinum colored hair that fell across his back. She fought her hardest not to remember those happier days…but her strength of will was not enough to block the clinging shadows of memories past.

* * *

"_I'll come back for you."_

_For the fifth time, Carrick Johnstone repeated those words, this time as he stared down from the saddle of his steed, a noble mare named Wendy. She snorted, clicking her hooves impatiently against the ground, her equine muscles tensed and flaring with nervous energy. _

"_I have been called to the front by the Silver Hand. Seems they finally saw fit to accept me into their ranks; figures it happens right when problems arise." Carrick had told her all of this the night before, but now felt it necessary to repeat the key points again. The lass did not seem to accept the truth, and, as much as it pained the two of them, it was imperative that the reality of the situation stick in the girl's mind._

_Tears welled up in Sarah's eyes as she looked toward her lover atop his towering mount. His features were set; clearly, Carrick had long since accepted the measure of his duty and everything it entailed. "Please…come back safely," Sarah gasped, her lips quivering violently. _

"_I promise I shall," Carrick replied, voice injected with reassuring fortitude. "I will return soon; this little disturbance to the north is probably just another group of rogue trolls. I doubt my service will last more than a few months." Though he had spent little time in the hamlet of Fallswood, the paladin had truly grown accustomed to his new lifestyle. What started as a reassignment by the Alliance military had metamorphosed into a life changing year._

_Now, however, war loomed on the horizon yet again. It pained Carrick to lie, but he knew that it was the undead, not Trolls, who currently troubled Lordaeron. Reports varied, but from what he gleaned his service would surely last for over a year, perhaps longer. That is, of course, if he survived. _

_ Carrick turned his horse towards the dirt road stretching northward through the forests of southern Lordaeron. He saluted the townspeople who had gathered to see him off before digging his six-sided star-shaped steel spurs into the hips of his horse. As he sped away, as voice cried out over the reverberating hoof beats._

_ "I love you!"_

_ Carrick glanced over his shoulder to see Sarah running after him, dust flying as she charged forward, particulates staining her simple farm dress as she raced futilely after the object of her affections. _

_ The paladin said nothing and turned his eyes forward. He wished to utter some sort of response, but if he did that would make his absence all the more painful. In reality, she had been little to him. Perhaps after the war he would return to make her his mistress._

_ Carrick would never return to Fallswood. He became tied up in the conflict with the Scourge, fighting in several battles of note such as Andorhal and Stratholme. Circumstances caused him to join the Argent Dawn after the collapse of the Silver Hand, and he spent most of his time patrolling the lands around Light's Hope Chapel to keep them free of undead. _

_ Fallswood, meanwhile, would suffer tremendously as the years slumped forward. The Scourge arrived in force during the middle part of the Third War, hundreds of undead troops rushing through the town day after day as they pressed towards more important targets such as Hillsbrad and Quel'thalas. _

_ The town possessed a small militia of poorly trained townspeople who did little to halt the advance of the Scourge. The Alliance military could not spare troops to protect such a seemingly unimportant population center whose only value was to supply a modicum of poultry and pumpkins for nearby cities. _

_ Feeling hopeless, the inhabitants of Fallswood lost the will to fight. Instead, each day, they would retreat within their homes and pray the undead would pass through without killing anyone. Often, this proved an apt assessment, but now and then smaller Scourge forces would ravage households in search of new bodies to add to their unholy ranks; even when these frightful searches did not occur, the Scourge troops almost always paraded across the fields of Fallswood, desecrating the already meager harvests of the townspeople. It was in this way that Fallswood became the first ghost town to house living souls. _

_ Everything changed when _they_ arrived. Sarah recalled waking up one morning to hear the tramp of boots on the few cobblestones of the unfinished road to the south of Fallswood. It could not be the undead; if so, they were moving in the wrong direction. To confirm her theory, the young woman looked out her window and saw a force of crimson armored troops in the distance. Rank upon rank of bodies marched forward, their feet falling in unison. In their hands they clutched blades or hammers, while a ring of shimmering auric energy. _

_ A chill feeling crept across Sarah's spine, and she peered through the northern window of her ground floor foyer. There, she saw the ghastly sight of a Scourge battalion, the bones of the walking dead creaking as they shambled forward, bits of flesh and clumps of dirt still clinging to their freshly resurrected bodies as they hobbled hideously towards their goal._

_ Sarah held her breath as she looked back and forth between the two forces. The distance between them shrank with each moment. Who were these red-clad soldiers? Perhaps a special contingent of the Alliance military? Were they here to save the town?_

_ Time snapped forward and it seemed the two forces met before Sarah could realize they were close to one another. The undead attacked wildly, but their strikes were clumsy and glanced pitifully against the shields and breastplates of these new warriors. _

_ These humans, in contrast, met the undead with deadly force. Glistening lengths of tempered steel rose and fell, hacking apart the Scourge troops in waltz of murder. Strange billows of gilded power moved from the hands and weapons of other troops, decomposing the undead upon contact. In mere minutes, the entire Scourge force had been dispatched, while the human battalion bore but few casualties. _

_ A torrent of bodies flooded from the houses of Fallswood towards the soldiers dressed in garnet and gold. The citizens cheered, bowing before their saviors and offering them food, and even in some cases what little silver the townspeople possessed. _

_ Sarah was intrigued as she watched the event unfold from a distance. These warriors were surely a symbol of salvation. She raced over to a dark-haired woman among the crowd of troops, curtsied, and hastily spoke. _

_ "Excuse me, m'am, but what part of the Alliance military do you hail from?" Sarah's voice was full of excitement. The woman turned around, exposing a face not much older than Sarah's own. _

_ "We no longer hold any loyalty to the weak Alliance," the woman snarled. "We are the Scarlet Crusade, and shall be the ones to purge Lordaeron of its vile taint and restore the land to its past glory." Without another word, the woman turned and walked back into the crowd of troops. Little did Sarah know it, but she had just met her future commanding officer. _

_ Sarah ignored the woman's cold exterior; the lass, instead, smiled, as she realized that she had perhaps found her calling in life. _They even accept women, _she thought. _I have never thought my life would have any meaning…but now perhaps I can become a part of something bigger than myself.

_ Sarah walked up to an official-looking Scarlet Crusader with a shaved head and a curly mahogany beard. "Excuse me, sir, but how do I sign up for this organization?"_

_

* * *

_

"There they are," Elric's detached tone broke through Sarah's daydreaming and brought her back to the present. The sniper captain extended his left index finger towards a mass of ebon shapes shifting back and forth on the horizon. Behind them, a mass of tan blocks stood as lonely guardians, the mighty edifices stabbing the hazy sky defiantly; these were the walls of Tyr's Hand. Already, the sun was dipping, a sign that noon had passed and nightfall was only five or six hours off.

"We will withdraw slightly and move towards the right flank of the army," Elric continued as his personal cadre of archers imitated his shifting feet and hung on every word of his puissant oratory. "Our goal is to keep the undead to the center-left of the overall formation, the area where the bulk of the Argent Dawn forces are concentrated. When we reach the undead, we will fight to make an opening; when the Inquisitor gives the signal, we will charge forward and into Tyr's Hand."

"But, sir," Sarah interjected, "what is this signal?"

"When it comes, you will know," came Elric's swift answer. "Now, we need to move in silence; all will be for naught if the Argent Dawn figure out how our entire company is shifting."

More scouts clustered about Elric as his inner circle took the lead, sneaking around the edges of the formation in order to reach the right flank. As they walked, Sarah turned, her eyes fixating on Carrick's back, his dandelion cape hanging across his broad shoulders. The urge to walk up to him and warn him of his impending doom filled her body, but she fought against that petty desire. The Scarlet Crusade had been a family to her in her hour of need; she may not agree with all of their policies, but the end justified the means. If a few people had to die in order to free the land of invaders, so be it.

Some distance away, towards the front center of the formation, Aurora Cronos raised her hand and beckoned for her troops to emulate Elric's maneuvers. Slowly but surely, the mass of crimson clad conscripts tended to the right side of the formation. This action forced the Argent Dawn to the left and front, as the faster pace of the Scarlet Crusaders in the rear encouraged their well-trained temporary allies to increase the own pace, which stayed rapid even when the members of the Scarlet Band slowed down themselves. In less than an hour, the entire battalion had fallen into the exact position Aurora had devised.

Two hours passed, and now the force of humans could discern the features of the Scourge force outside Tyr's Hand. Ranks upon ranks of rotting regiments arrayed themselves not half a mile from the Scarlet Band's position. Less than a mile beyond this Scourge force stood the city of Tyr's Hand, once an Alliance military stronghold, now the greatest staging point of the Scarlet Crusade. The carnelian capped towers and sand-colored walls watched over the land, an image of power to deny the undead.

The Scourge force, however, seemed fixated on the approaching Scarlet Band and their Argent Dawn allies. _No doubt such a force knows it cannot hope to breach Tyr's Hand, _Delilah considered as she watched empty eye-sockets turn in her direction. _It seems this patrol hopes to starve out Tyr's Hand, or wait for reinforcements. I'd always heard that the Lich King more or less ignored the city after constant failed attempts at breaching its walls several years ago; the defenders inside never exited, either, save to deliver messages to the Monastery, Hearthglen or Stratholme. This stalemate has persisted for years: the undead cannot breach our defenses yet were our forces to leave the safety of the city they would surely be overrun. _

Delilah finished her thought and turned towards the mounted figure of Carrick Johnstone; the time had come to initiate her role in their plan. The youthful paladin slid through the ranks of Scarlet Crusaders and into the region the Argent Dawn occupied. Moving purposefully, Delilah approached Carrick, barking her words hastily to ensure his attention.

"Sir Carrick," the girl ejected her words with a roughness that contrasted her calm and attractive features, "as you can see we have reached a blockage. The Inquisitor has ordered me to inform you of our battle plans. Your forces are in better shape than ours; she suggests that you form a wedge formation while we pour in on the flanks to crush the foe in a pincer."

"A viable plan, I suppose," Carrick answered. Though a mid-ranking commander of the Argent Dawn, the man never excelled in tactics and strategy. "My cavalry shall move forward first at a slow gallop so the infantry can stay close, then increase speed as we arrive to smash their lines and disrupt the undead forces." This was one of the few strategies the man had ever learned and seemed fine for this situation; it had never failed him before.

"Fine," Delilah answered, trying her best to remain pleasant yet stern. "Make your move, and we shall follow."

Delilah moved back through the ranks of troops as Carrick ordered an advance, the impetuous and devoted Argent Dawn members rushing forward to follow their leader into combat. _It is exactly as Aurora predicted, _thought Delilah as she returned to her position in the formation. _This group of Argent Dawn soldiers is relatively young; they impulsively rush to claim glory even if any rational person can tell the situation is suicidal._

"Seems they took the bait," whispered Aurora as Delilah approached her commander.

"Indeed," Delilah answered, curtly, turning to watch the Argent Dawn cavalry stampeding across the small stretch of land that now separated them from the Scourge force; their infantry were not far behind, their armor clanking as they rushed forward towards the undead formation, weapons at the ready. The sun, now cresting towards late afternoon, glinted with a titian rays across the polished and shimmering armor of the holy warriors.

"Scarlet Band, forward!" Aurora called to her troops. "Make for the edges of the formation and skirt them! Let the Argent Dawn deal with the undead!"

Aurora could yell her commands without fear; the Argent Dawn had charged too far forward and were already stuck in with assembled Scourge forces. The din of tempered steel crashing against rusted bronze breastplates echoed over anything the Inquisitor cried.

The Scarlet Band advanced, its entire force having assembled on the right flank. Elric had dispatched a few of his fastest scouts around the left flank to make it appear as if the Scarlet Band was upholding its part of the fake plan Delilah had told Carrick. This group of scouts took the occasional pot-shot at the undead battalion, their arrows and crossbow bolts felling zombies here and there as they focused on skirting the Scourge squadron. Everything moved forward even better than Aurora could have imagined; pleased with herself, the Inquisitor drew her hammer and ordered her troops onward.

Delilah, Aurora, Elric, and the rest of the Scarlet Band marched vigorously forward, their eyes focused on Tyr's Hand. At last, the city they had sought to reach for months was so close; their mission was at last near completion. All the deaths they had suffered, all the trials they had faced, all the fear in their hearts had finally shown its goal. The memories of the fallen urged these soldiers onward, causing a sentient crimson tidal wave to crash across the dilapidated fields of what had once been known as Lordaeron. Small bands of weaker undead soldiers broke off from the center of the formation to meet the Scarlet Band, but they were crushed like stone beneath the pickaxe of a mighty miner.

_Just buy us a little more time, _Aurora mused as she brought _Uther's Arm_ careening through the thorax of a Crypt Fiend, splattering putrid purple pus and blue bile across the skeleton soldiers standing behind its crushed carcass. The Inquisitor tilted her head briefly, glancing at the Argent Dawn force. Little by little, the Scourge troops encircled Carrick's underlings; the paladins and warriors of the Argent Dawn fought bravely, their strikes beating down and turning back the undead advance, yet each moment their situation became evermore dire. By this point, the extent of Aurora's plan could be easily seen, yet the Argent Dawn recruits were preoccupied with surviving the encroaching forces to notice either the Scarlet Band's treachery or the hopelessness of their position. Aurora put the Argent Dawn out of her mind and turned back to the small force of undead blocking their advance.

Delilah's maul rose and fell as she tore into the undead, feeling wildly energized with the promise of their goal so close at hand. Delilah envisioned and recalled Baelin as she raised her Devotion Aura and rushed headlong towards a mass of a quarter of a dozen ghouls. The paladin crushed all four of their skulls with a sweep of her warhammer, the memories of their sacrifices giving her renewed strength. "This is for Baelin!"

Delilah's call grabbed Aurora's attention and she raised her hammer from her most recently felled foe to fix her eyes on the younger paladin. _She's fighting like a mad dog,_ Aurora considered. _I admire her persistence…it is almost as if she possesses the fabled Blood of the Conqueror, the lineage of great heroes said to manifest with wild yet powerful combat styles through all descendants of that clan. Given her background and fighting methods up to this point, such an occurrence is no doubt impossible, but at the very least she does exhibit an impressive force of will. Perhaps our coming duel may be more interesting than I first anticipated…_

"You may fire at will!" Elric brayed at the scouts around him. The expert marksman readied his crossbow, tying oilcloth to its point, touching a torch to the tip, and letting the bolt fly. The flaming missile embedded itself in the chest of a hapless zombie who stumbled backward as his body became engulfed in flame, in turn incinerating the bodies of several of his fellow walking corpses.

Sarah shivered, her hands barely able to clutch her bow as she fitted a shaft across the stave and tensed the bowstring. She eyed a ghoul approaching a Scarlet Band spearman and then, unconsciously, turned her bow towards the Argent Dawn position and fired, slaughtering a necromancer whose spells had harrowed a silver-clad paladin.

"What are you doing?" Elric snapped at Sarah, grabbing her by the arm. "Follow the plan; keep your eyes forward and help thin the undead ranks to facilitate the movement of our close-combat infantry."

"But, captain, with all due respect our forces are fairing fine. The Argent Dawn however…" Sarah trailed off as Elric's voice slashed through her statement, his words a scythe cutting through the decayed grass of her stammering speech.

"The Argent Dawn are pawns in our ultimate goal! From the beginning, we have moved towards Tyr's Hand. This was Whitemane's Edict, this was the order given to us by Baelin, and now these are the orders given to us by Lady Aurora."

"Can you really be so cold towards other human beings?" Sarah riposted, tears fill her eyes and her voice cracking.

"And how can you be so petty?" Elric fired back. "Can you not see that this course of action is for the greater good? What do we gain by staying to fight? I will tell you: everyone here will die. That force is too big for us to successfully defeat. I know it. Aurora knows it. And you know it, too. The Argent Dawn is selling their lives dearly so that we may live. Unless that commander is a fool, he should have realized from the beginning that even our combined forces are no match for such an assembly. Even if we attempted to all break though, the majority of our forces would be crushed and not even a fifth of our number would make it past the undead.

"Like you, I am not fond of sacrificing life needlessly," Elric continued, his voice relaxing, "but we have no other options at this juncture. The Argent Dawn are fighting to the death for a cause they believe in, no different from how our comrades have died on this journey so that we may reach our ultimate goal. I will never forget their sacrifice and, even if she seems cold and aloof, neither will Inquisitor Aurora. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Sarah acknowledged solemnly, lowering her eyes. She looked as Elric nodded and turned his eyes forward, firing a crossbow bolt he had loaded during their conversation into the chest of an undead monstrosity that resembled several corpses sewn together.

_But it doesn't mean I have to accept it,_ Sarah's mind weighed her options. Within a split second, she made her decision and loaded her bow, rushing towards the Argent Dawn's location, sending arrow after arrow towards the undead surrounding them. Her feet skidded as she slid down a raised patch of ground, white fletched missiles racing from her bow and thudding into the bodies of the living dead; though a risky maneuver, Sarah knew she needed to cover much ground quickly, for each second wasted meant the life of another Argent Dawn member.

Sarah dodged the clumsy claws of several ghouls that struck at her during her mad rush forward. Each moment she poured more arrows into the forces before her, ignoring the blades that tore at her clothes or bolts of dark magic that singed her skin.

Sarah's bow cracked under the strain of her rapid firing, splinters fluttering from the stave each moment. Without a thought, she discarded the broken wood, drawing out a pair of hatchets from loops in her thick leather belt as she charged forward. The dual weapons spun in her hands as she rushed into the fray.

Sarah had entered the Scarlet Crusade at a later age than most, but had poured her heart and soul into training; not a day passed that she did not push herself to the edge of exhaustion with her efforts to become strong. Now, the fruits of her labor shone as she hacked through skeletons and zombies, her hair flapping wildly as blood blotched her flowing locks of hair.

Finally, only a single skeletal soldier stood before Sarah and Carrick. The creature did not notice the woman and was busy attacking the mounted paladin with a pointed polearm clutched in its festering fists. Carrick, preoccupied with an abomination, did not see the skeleton's pike flying towards his horse's hindquarters.

"Not this time!" Sarah screeched, swinging her axes in a downward double arc. One axe-head caught in her foe's shoulder, sending a shock of pain up Sarah's arm, while the other weapon struck true, tearing through the creature's armor and chopping the skeleton's spine into two pieces. The creature collapsed in a heap of bone and metal, leaving an exhausted Sarah facing Carrick.

There are certain moments that have a special power behind them; there is no logic or reason that can explain their occurrence, and for a host of other factors they would not happen at all. Such events occur perhaps once in a lifetime, and their importance and role in shaping the future is indisputable. The rules of causality dictate that such a thing should never happen. Yet, at that moment, some otherworldly force compelled Carrick Johnstone to turn his horse away from the enemies assailing his men and look at the bloodied body of Sarah Brightwater. The woman smiled as she saw the face of her beloved turn towards her. Sarah's hair hung limply around her face, blood trickling down her cheeks and arms from blows suffered on her wild dash towards her beloved. It was clear that the woman called upon all her reserves of strength merely to remain standing.

"Carrick…I finally…" Sarah heaved as she trudged towards Carrick, her overworked muscles forcing her to let go of her weapons and leave them lying on the ground. "At last…I….reached…you…I fought…to reach…you…" She was barely standing, her facial muscles exerting the last vestiges of her strength as she tried to remain smiling.

Clouds had gathered almost instantaneously and a weak rain began to fall over the battlefield, the droplets clinking off the metal that adorned both sides of the battle. The combatants surrounding the Argent Dawn took no notice of Carrick and Sarah who stood, eyes locked, in the midst of the carnage. Bodies of the slain fell all around them, but the two former lovers seemed lost in their own world.

Duty seized Carrick. Without a word, he twisted his head away from Sarah and plunged his blade skull of a hobbling cadaver.

Not a second later, a crossbow bolt pierced Sarah's broken heart, and she collapsed to the earth.

A hundred yards away, Elric lowered his crossbow. His adherents could not tell if his eyes were wet from the increasingly strong rain or his tears of personal regret.

"Do you see what your foolish choices and petty attitude won you?" Elric sobbed to himself. "What a waste of a fine archer." He removed a dry cloth from his pocket and cleaned his eyes, turning his sights back to the remaining undead. The Scourge had finally given up its attacks on the Scarlet Crusade contingent and instead turned their full attention to the dwindling legion of the Argent Dawn.

"The undead have receded; we have an opening, let's move!" Delilah Corwin cheered, raising her warhammer perpendicular to the ground before turning the head to point at Tyr's Hand. "Forward! Double time!"

Aurora smirked; Delilah had surely grown audacious, but the older paladin admired her underling's determination and strength of will. _She truly took to her position as marshal,_ Aurora considered as she advanced at the front of the column of soldiers. _It will pain me to have to finish her off in our duel, but I suppose a deal's a deal. _

The sounds of battle became ever distant as the Scarlet Band neared the gates of Tyr's Hand. The rain slackened slightly with each passing moment, and soon the precipitation returned to the light drizzle it was not long before.

Delilah's jaw dropped in awe as the gargantuan gates of the Scarlet Crusade stronghold came into clear view. Massive doors of oak reinforced with bands of black iron blocked the entrance to the last true city in northeastern Lordaeron. For the majority of the Scarlet Band, this was their first time viewing Tyr's Hand; if its exterior possessed such marvel and grandeur, what glories must its interior hold?

Suddenly, a rough sound of feet stamping the earth bounced off the pale walls of the city, the echoes a harsh chorus that evoked images of death and inevitable tragedy. Delilah whirled around, horrified at what lay behind them: the undead force they had left not long before now stood less than a quarter of a mile from the Scarlet Band's position.

"Not now, not so close to our destination!" Delilah murmured, rage and fear mixing in equal measure with each syllable she spoke.

"Damn the Argent Dawn, they even fail at the simple task of living for a brief period," Aurora grunted, turning to the gates and cupping her hands around her mouth. "Greetings, garrison at Tyr's Hand! It is I, Inquisitor Aurora Cronos, formerly Sergeant, of the Scarlet Monastery! I have arrived with my troops and request that you allow us inside! We are pursued by a force of undead we cannot hope to stand against!"

A long moment passed and nothing seemed to occur. Terror manifested upon the faces of the Scarlet Band soldiers one by one, lips quivering, eyes darting side to side. Enraged, Aurora slammed her fists against the oak, her steel gauntlets ringing with each strike. "Damn it let us in! We have traveled for miles!" Her voice grew more desperate with each moment. "Please! We are weary and haggard! Do not leave us to die!"

A loud creaking answered Aurora's pleas, as the great portal of Tyr's Hand swung back slowly. With the undead nearly upon them, the Scarlet Band wasted no time sprinting through the small crack afforded them by the gate, the soldiers clambering over one another in their haste to reach safety. In less than five minutes, the entirety of the Scarlet Band entered the wall of Tyr's Hand, and with a grinding of gears and banging of chains the gate closed once more. The sound of claws against the humongous portal caused several Scarlet Band members to shift uneasily, but with a sound like wind clearing foam from the crests of the sea, a sparkling halcyon aura wreathed the construct of wood and metal, silencing the sound as the holy energy eradicated the undead force.

Delilah raised her eyes towards an approaching contingent of Scarlet Crusaders. Their clothes were impeccably pressed and dyed, a far cry from the ragged and soil-stained attire currently draped across the bodies of the Scarlet Band. As the soldiers came closer, Delilah's eyes widened with joy as she noticed their familiar faces, forgetting any trace of past animosity. Before she could open her mouth to declare her joviality, Aurora cut in, scowling as she stomped towards the individual leading the column, an accusing index finger extended towards the prominent figure.

"Sonja? How in Uther's name are you still alive? And better yet, how did you reach Tyr's Hand, _deserter_?"

"Welcome, Aurora," Sonja's voice possessed a soothing quality to it, yet Aurora's rage did not seem to dissipate. "Before you began your hail of insults, let me teach you a few manners you may want to adopt if you're to survive in Tyr's Hand."

Character Profile: Sarah Brightwater

Age: 30

Rank: Mid-ranking scout of the Scarlet Band, Member of Elric's Personal Retinue, former low-ranking scout in the Scarlet Monastery's 4th Scout Battalion

Affiliation: Member of the New Scarlet Band, former member of the Scarlet Band's Cinnabar Company, former member of the Scarlet Monastery 4th Scout Battalion:

Abilities: Sarah possesses greater than average accuracy skills with a bow, though her skills with other ranged weapons are rather average. Her close combat skills are also average, though she possesses a powerful will that helps her excel when the situation demands it.

Appearance: Sarah is five feet three inches tall and has a slender build. She has dark brown hair that falls about halfway down her back. Her eyes are soil-colored. She wears the standard clothes of a Scarlet Crusade scout, though her leggings are made of leather from one of the few cows her family owned in her hometown of Fallswood.

HES: At last, after months of trials and turmoil, the Scarlet Band has reached Tyr's Hand! It seems, however, that new developments lie ahead, especially as both factions have reunited. What will occur now that their initial mission is complete?

I know I do this a lot, but I must apologize for how long it took for this update to occur. This semester has been really difficult for me but, now that I have a break, I hope to post at least one more chapter within the next month (but, as always, no promises as life has a way of messing with my plans). I thank you all for staying patient and taking the time to read my chapter. As usual, please leave a review if you feel so inclined; I really appreciate all your feedback! Until next time!


	17. Rasps of the Forgotten

Chapter 17: Rasps of the Forgotten

Aurora's mouth stood agape, the Inquisitor unable to find words as Sonja's oratory rushed onward like a mighty river across a pile of pebbles. A brief smirk crossed the priest captain's face, knowing that at last she held power and sway over the situation; she thanked the Light that she had arrived before Aurora, for had their roles been reversed the Inquisitor surely would have called her a traitor and ordered her demise.

The eyes of the recent arrivals scanned their surroundings, taking in every detail of this greatest bastion of the Scarlet Crusade. Dozens of buildings stood before them, some simple houses of wood and thatch while other larger stone buildings such as forges and storehouses dotted the landscape. Farther in the distance a single, massive structure dominated the horizon, its alabaster bricks and carnelian roofing tiles glistening with purity beneath its high spire that stabbed the skyline; this was the Scarlet Basilica, greatest cathedral in all of Lordaeron. The figures of Scarlet Soldiers milled about the city, focusing on various tasks from polishing weapons, to transporting good, to picking vegetables and fruit from the sizable fields and orchards within these blessed walls.

Many members of the Scarlet Band were most amazed by what lay beneath their feet: growing atop the holy soil of Tyr's Hand stood thousands upon thousands of blades of grass. It felt a century since any of them had seen such a blessed crop, and some even knelt and kissed the ground, paying their respects to the sanctitude of this bastion.

Delilah moved to stand beside Aurora, the Marshal's head twisting left and right as she attempted to take in all the sights and sounds. Reality regained her attention, and she whirled to face Captain Sonja once more; there were questions that needed to be answered and Aurora seemed trapped by inaction.

"Captain Sonja, a pleasure to see you," Delilah began, bowing slightly. "I am glad to see you survived. After you left…"

"Do not give me pleasantries, paladin," Sonja shot back, her eyes narrowing. Clearly, something had shifted in the demeanor of this once calm and free-spirited holy woman. Delilah recoiled slightly from these harsh words, retreating back into the lines of soldiers and leaving Aurora standing alone before her aggressor.

"Yes, we survived," Sonja continued, her eyes gazing directly at Aurora's chest as if she desired to wrench the woman's heart from her ribcage, "though we suffered immensely. Details are not important as of now, but dozens of us died and more were wounded as we moved desperately through the northern reaches of the Eastern Plaguelands. The Light, however, did not abandon us and we were gifted with a degree of salvation," at that moment, a figure stepped out of the crowd of soldiers flanking Sonja. His massive muscles rippled beneath thick plates of coral colored alloy, while a gigantic axe rested across his broad shoulders.

"Herod…the Scarlet Champion..." someone in the crowd muttered.

"Impossible!" another soldier called, this revelation causing him to gesture wildly at the figure he took to be a fallacy. "I myself saw Herod surrounded by undead before a massive keystone fell atop him, crushing his body. Afterward, hundreds of Forsaken troops poured into the Armory, and we had no choice but to retreat. There is no way…"

"Trust your _eyes_!" Sonja snarled, eyebrows dropping and brow wrinkling with cold anger. "Herod is a warrior of miracles, and truly an individual blessed by the Light. He arrived in our darkest moment to save us from a Forsaken trap. Without him, we never could have reached this city, and for that the least we owe him is our thanks."

Sonja surveyed the crowd and, seeing that they hung on her words and showed no signs of a desire to argue or interrupt, opened her mouth to continue her lecture. "Where was I? Ah yes, the Laws of Tyr's Hand." Sonja cleared her throat and continued.

"Tyr's Hand, as the strongest center of humanity still in Lordaeron, must have strict regulations if it is to remain an unshakable pillar against the push of the undead," Sonja made sure to pause at key intervals, ensuring that her audience stayed captivated.

"As many of you know, Tyr's Hand is overseen by High General Brigitte Abbendis, daughter of the late High General Maximillian Abbenis, one of the greatest heroes of the Second War and one of the original founders of the Scarlet Crusade. Currently, Lady Abbendis holds sway over all decisions pertaining to the running of this city, and she established this code of conduct that must be followed.

"A strict hierarchy exists within this city," continued Sonja, brushing a falling bang out of her eyes as she spoke, pacing to and fro in between the guards at her back and the Scarlet Band members she addressed. "Directly beneath Abbendis are five individuals known as High Councilors, each ranking directly above a series of Inquisitors." At this point, Sonja stopped her pacing and turned directly to face Aurora, licking her lips as she made her next announcement. "For my service to the Crusade and perseverance in the face of adversity, the High General herself promoted me to the rank of High Councilor."

"Impossible!" Aurora roared. "How could you rise so quickly through the ranks? This…"

"Be silent, _Inquisitor_," Sonja enunciated the final word with malice, "I outrank you. It would be in your best interest to hold your tongue and continue listening. If you want to survive in this city, you will need to listen to what I have to say.

"Tyr's Hand, like most of our posts, is almost entirely cut off from the outside world," Sonja stated, drawing several nods from the crowd. "Consequently, you all should not be surprised to hear that this city is entirely self-sufficient. All of our food, weapons, and building material is procured right here in the city. It can be difficult at times, but we make do.

"As a result, tasks must be divided between all inhabitants of Tyr's Hand. Thus, you will all be assigned various jobs which will rotate every month. Now, form five lines and I along with four of this city's Inquisitors will assign you your positions," as Sonja finished, the beleaguered members of the Scarlet Band staggered into columns.

One individual, however, would not comply so easily. "What of our report?" Aurora screeched, pacing towards Sonja and extending an accusing finger. "I must see High General Abbendis myself and complete our mission. You cannot expect me to pick carrots or melt down scraps of iron when I have this greater objective lying within reach."

"Seems you cannot seem to get the message about holding your tongue," Sonja chided her former commander like a schoolmaster scolding a naughty child. "Guards," Sonja snapped her fingers, and a second later four burly Scarlet Soldiers wearing thick plate armor surrounded Aurora and drew their weapons, the tips of their swords directed at the paladin. "I have already given the report, Aurora, but if you wish to see Abbendis so badly then please, I invite you to follow my colleagues and me." With no other options before her, and the chances of defeating these troops in her exhausted state almost nil, Aurora deigned to trot after her new superior. "One of the Inquisitors will fill my post of job assignments while I deal with this one," Sonja called back to the crowd.

Delilah stood towards the front of one of lines. Something urged her to run after Aurora, but she knew that taking such risks at this point would do more to hurt their cause than serve it. _The Scarlet Crusade cannot risk descending to infighting…_ Delilah thought. _Unity…that is the purpose of this 'Whitemane's Will' everyone keeps referring to. Only united can we save the world from shadow._

Upon reaching the front of the line, a gaunt face confronted Delilah. He was a short man, barely reaching her shoulders, but his frame was stout and his arms seemed to house a gargantuan reserve of power. Were it not for his lack of a beard, the young paladin would swear this man was a Dwarf.

"Name?" The gaunt man barked, his eyes seeming to stare past Delilah, cutting to the core of her figure. She understood, however, that one would surely be dour when living in conditions such as these, so close to the heart of the undead threat on Lordaeron.

"Delilah Corwin," the paladin answered.

"Rank?"

"Marshal and aide to Inquisitor Aurora Cronos," the words came out oddly, as if now Delilah felt ashamed of her post.

"Training?"

"The path of a paladin, arts of the Holy Light, and…"

"Head north to the apple orchard," the man cut off Delilah and waved her on with a careless hand, his eyes still fixed forward. "When you arrive, you will be given a basket and start picking apples immediately. One of my associates there will see you are directed properly. Good day." Delilah did not have a chance to hesitate, as a guard yelled at her to move out, driving the young marshal into in brisk jog as she headed towards the distant stands of gnarled apple trees.

Delilah had no trouble locating the orchard, for the twisted trunks loomed atop a hill that towered over the shorter buildings in the northern section of the city. As she headed towards the rows of trees, she noticed other members of the Scarlet Band walking in the same general direction, surely tasked with the same duties as she. Agriculture did not appeal to the paladin, but after all the hardship and constant fighting of the past several months even manual labor seemed a welcome respite.

A stack of crude, wicker baskets greeted Delilah as she arrived at the southern slopes of the orchard. She, along with the other apple-pickers drafted from the ranks of the Scarlet Band, picked up a basket and slung it over her arm. An official looking Scarlet Scout patrolled the edges of the orchard, and, as Delilah came closer, she smiled upon recognizing a familiar face, before choking down her glee upon realizing that such a person was not one she wished to see.

"Fill your baskets and then deposit the apples in the crates on the eastern edge of the orchard near the storehouse," the archer ordered, using his hands to indicate their route of motion. Delilah attempted to hide her face as she passed near him, but his swift hand grabbed her by the elbow. She quickly flung off his arm and turned, staring directly into his eyes, a scowl crossing her face.

"What a waste, you look much prettier when you smile," the scout stated.

"I'm not sure if I have ever smiled since the loss of the Monastery," Delilah muttered back, turning away from the figure. _Adrian Loksey…why the hell did _he _of all people have to survive? Give me anyone but him, especially as my overseer! _Delilah rushed towards a tree, gripping an apple tightly in her mailed fist, plucking it violently from its stem and depositing it in the basket before selecting another ripe red orb.

"Illana was worried about you," Adrian called to Delilah. Instantly, the paladin's ears perked up and she turned towards the scout. A smile crept onto his face as he realized his victory. Adrian stood still, watching, pleased, as Delilah stomped towards him.

"She's alive? Where is she?" Questions flew from Delilah's mouth.

Adrian wagged his right index finger. "You will see her soon enough. If I told you where she was working, you would abandon your job to see her. Do not worry; I promise I will make sure you see her tonight. Just focus on your work for now. At sunset, your shift will end."

Delilah contorted her face in annoyance, but knew Adrian spoke the truth. Without a word, she turned back towards the trees. _He may be troublesome, but he's honest,_ Delilah pondered, plucking another piece of fruit from a branch. _Illana…I'm so glad she's alive…_

Meanwhile, in the eastern part of the city's religious district, Aurora marched in total silence beside the four guards flanking her. Though the one standing before her was tall, Aurora managed to steal glances around his sides at Sonja. Truly, the priest captain's experiences in the Plaguelands had transformed her. No longer did she hold the girlish charm and sense of excitement; suffering had chained her once free spirit.

_Sonja finally became tough, _considered Aurora as she noticed that even the way Sonja carried herself had changed; the female priest now strutted, as if each step's purpose was to extol her own sense of self-worth and power. _She was the last person I thought would ever become a trouble to me...at the very least she is devoted to our cause, body and soul._

The soldiers led Aurora past stone houses and towards a series of large towers near the Scarlet Basilica. As the group reached the cluster of towers, the soldiers instinctively stopped, the warrior in front stepping aside to allow Aurora one option: to walk forward. Sonja turned and beckoned for Aurora to follow and, seeing no other options, the Inquisitor complied.

Sonja strode onward into the entryway to one of the towers, exchanging a few whispered words with a soldier standing next to the portal. Incredulously, Aurora entered the innards of this stone structure. Immediately, as the two female commanders walked inside the tower, a creaking staircase of oak slats greeted them. Aurora cautiously planted her foot on the first step, testing her weight on the stair before starting her ascent. She took a brief glance over her shoulder, confirming what she already knew: the guard Sonja had spoken too now barred the way, ensuring that she had no option but to continue her forward course. Sonja was already halfway up the curling stairwell when Aurora turned her head to face front once more. The Inquisitor took a deep breath before scurrying after the High Councilor.

As Aurora climbed, she noticed a series of portraits snaking along the walls beside her, each one painted in immaculate style depicting the early days of the Scarlet Crusade. Brief looks caught her glimpses of Highlord Alexandros Mograine, Inquisitor Whitemane, the first High General Abbendis, and several others that even Aurora could not identify. She stopped to peer at one of the unrecognizable figures, a tall man with bright blond hair and a dashing smile wearing the garb of a mage, taking a moment to wipe grime from the brass nameplate beneath the painting. Aurora squinted her eyes in the half-light of the torches illuminating the tower's stairwell, trying desperately to see the identity of this man.

"Hurry up, Inquisitor," Sonja's voice ricocheted off the walls and bounced into Aurora's ears. The paladin had no choice but to abandon this pursuit and race up the stairs to catch up with the priest.

Sonja waited at the top of the staircase, tapping the soles of her feet impatiently. Aurora noted the delicate silken ceremonial slippers Sonja wore, clearly a luxury afforded only to those of high rank. Behind the priest, a rough door made of thick hardwood stood sentinel over the room beyond, a large brass knocker in the shape of an eagle resting on the outside.

Sonja said nothing to Aurora, turning slowly as the paladin walked to stand beside her on the upper landing where the staircase ended. The High Councilor grabbed the eagle delicately in her white gloved hands and knocked once, twice, thrice. Then after pausing several more seconds, knocked one more time. A moment passed, and then the door swung inward. Sonja and Aurora entered the chamber, the latter walking gingerly as if she expected a trap of some sort.

The room was fairly unimpressive. A window on the western wall allowed in the glinting rays of the afternoon sun, barely illuminating what little the room had to offer. A simple bed of pine wood with white linen sheets sat against the wall directly across from the door, while beside it a desk composed of the same wood and general design stood erect. Atop the wooden surface, a lone brass candlestick with a candle of dark wax stood, the white wick currently resting lazily against the tip of the waxen object. Seated on a pinewood chair whose back was carved in an intricate design that mimicked coiling roots was a lone woman, her back hunched over the desk as she scribbled upon a roll of parchment with a quill pen, pausing only to dip the tip of her stylus in glass pot of jet ink on the right edge of the desk. The woman made no effort to acknowledge her visitors, continuing her writing, her mahogany hair tied in a bun the only physical feature visible to the women at her door.

"High General, I have brought Aurora Cronos with me," Sonja spoke. "It appears she and her troops managed to survive the Plaguelands as well."

"Surprising," Abbendis replied with condescension, still refusing to look her at her guests. "When you arrived a little over a week ago, I assumed they all had perished. Considering your routes, I find it difficult to believe they would have arrived second."

"Our march was slowed," Aurora growled, thinking back to her constant fights against the undead. "Many of our troops were wounded and the Scourge assailed us at every turn."

"Did I ask you to give a report?" Abbendis cut in, finally tilting her head to gaze at Aurora, her right eye now visible with its piercing cobalt focus.

"No m'am, my apologies," Aurora answered hastily, bowing as she spoke. "Forgive me, it was not my place to…"

"No, it was not," Abbendis continued, standing and walking towards Sonja and Aurora, her entire body now visible. She was a tall woman, standing even taller than Aurora. Her crimson armor was polished to a remarkable sheen, seeming to banish any shadows in the room as she moved through it. Her immaculate tabard held intricate golden stitching around the edges, while in her thick, steel belt rested a warhammer, the fabled _Crellen's Comet_ once wielded by her father. The weapon glimmered with deeply stored reserves of holy presence, reflecting craftsmanship of a quality not seen since the days before the First War of Orcish Ascension.

"I would, however, like to hear your report, Inquisitor Aurora," Brigitte Abbendis said, her words coalescing and giving her an aura of power as she spoke. "I heard that Baelin Briarbrand, the first leader of your organization, met his death at the edge of your sword."

"This is true," Aurora answered, finding it difficult to retain her normal sense of confidence in the face of the overwhelming pressure when faced with one of the greatest leaders of the Scarlet Crusade. The Inquisitor felt sweat bead on her brow as she started her tale. "His own sense of weakness and inefficiency slowed our advance, and his tactics cost the lives of hundreds of our men. I constantly tried to act as an advisor, but it seemed, at that point, there was no other way to…"

"Spare me your idle alibis," Abbendis cut in. "What's done is done. Give me a report of your casualty figures and your current forces, and, if you can, a brief recap of the undead forces you encountered on the way, their size, strength, and anything else you feel is pertinent."

Aurora took a deep breath and began her report. The words cascaded from her lips, weaving together the tale of hardship, woe, and struggle the Scarlet Band experienced since their exodus from the Scarlet Monastery those months ago. The piercing eyes of both Sonja and High General Abbendis fixed on Aurora's visage, but the Inquisitor did not buckle under the pressure of their gazes. She half expected Sonja to interrupt her and question facts or attempt to distort them, but the priest turned councilor remained poised and demure.

"…and then we entered the city," Aurora finished, gasping as she realized too late the speed with which she had spoken.

An endlessly long moment passed as Abbendis glared directly into Aurora's eyes. The higher-ranking paladin seemed to have the ability to tear away the inquisitor's outer layers, stripping away the strength and outward confidence that others seemed unable to break through. Aurora took a single step back, the overwhelming pressure of the other woman's presence crushing her seemingly impenetrable shell.

"Noted." The word broke the silence before Abbendis returned to her desk.

"I will show you out," Sonja said, grabbing hold of Aurora's arm and leading her towards the door. Normally, the paladin would cast off a grappling limb such as this, but Abbendis's aura of puissance had shook Aurora and left her in a catatonic state. Sonja fought her urge to laugh; seeing her former commanding officer in such a weakened state filled her with jubilance. At long last, Aurora's humanity and weakness were on display for her to see.

* * *

"That's it for the day," Adrian shouted across the orchard. "Turn in your last basket of apples and then report to the mess hall in the Southern Barracks. I will lead all newcomers there once the last worker has turned in his crop."

Delilah wiped sweat from her brow as she slogged towards the storehouse to deposit the literal fruits of her labor. The work had been harder than she expected, and now her clothes were soaked with perspiration. She assumed, at the very least, that she would be presented with new, clean clothes at some undisclosed point in the future, at least judging by Sonja, Adrian, and the other members of the Scarlet Band that reached Tyr's Hand first.

Adrian stood beside the large, wooden storehouse, the sunlight peeking through termite holes illuminating the scout's frame as he directed the apple pickers onward. Delilah hated to admit it, but the archer handled his new position with vigor, skill, and even poise. His awkward traits seemed eliminated, or at least buried, beneath an exterior of professionalism. Perhaps she should not have been surprised: they all had grown since their adventure began, so why should Adrian have stayed the same? It seemed perhaps his father's blood manifested in Tyr's Hand, giving the lad a sense of command he had never shown before now.

Delilah fell into line behind the other weary Scarlet Crusaders turned agriculturalists. Some of them she recognized from the Scarlet Band, though the majority were individuals she had never seen before and most likely consisted of forces permanently stationed in Tyr's Hand. Adrian stood at the front of the line, looking out across the rows of men and women before him.

"Dinner time," Adrian declared with a sweep of his hands. "Follow me." A crimson snake followed behind the Houndmaster's son, slithering across the beaten paths of the city and towards the towering Southern Barracks. The building was one of five barracks in Tyr's Hand and, like all of them, housed an assortment of soldiers of all varieties. The Southern Barracks was the smallest of the group, though its walls still towered as high as those of the Scarlet Monastery's Armory, a testament to the grandeur of this ancient settlement. The walls were hewn from polished white marble, not a single flaw visible on the façade; it was as if the Light itself had carved this building, bringing it up from the earth to serve its noble purpose.

As Delilah entered the maw of the barracks, she noted the towers at each corner of the building: sentries stood stolidly behind the capped crenellated peaks, their faces masked by heavy plate helms emblazoned with holy emblems. Though these men were her allies, something about them unnerved Delilah and it was all she could do to look away and turn her face back towards the barracks' interior.

The inside of the building had the exact layout Delilah expected: a wide foyer broke into two corridors, each leading beneath a tower. The group turned right, moving past a small armory with pikes and blades hanging on the walls, and walked down another long corridor which led them to a central room where they stopped. It was a wide chamber with polished floors and walls lined with shields and swords of fallen soldiers. Long, mahogany tables stretched across the length of the room; benches kneeled beside each table, offering a place for soldiers to sit. Some of the seats were already occupied, and groups of Scarlet Crusaders chatted amicably while wolfing down vittles provided on pewter plates. A wider table rested at the far end of the room, its surface covered with bowls, plates, and silverware, as well as tureens of soup and platters of smoked meats and vegetables. A line formed at this food table, as one by one the arrivals took what they desired and seated themselves. Delilah's stomach rumbled as she gazed at this veritable feast; even in the Monastery she had never seen food such as this. Such a bounty was a testament to the blessings on Tyr's Hand and the wise management of its leaders. Delilah had never expected to see meat again but, it seemed, the ranchers of Tyr's Hand managed their livestock with care and planned for the future. A glimmer of doubt entered the paladin's mind as she wondered if this was only for the occasion of their arrival, but she banished the idea, realizing that such preparation would no doubt have needed to begin early in the morning, long before their appearance.

_What a miracle, _Delilah thought joyfully as she loaded corn and beans onto her plate. _I never expected something so glorious as this. Thank the Light…bless Tyr's Hand!_ After filling her plate as high as she could and grabbing a cup of water from a nearby barrel, Delilah waltzed over to Adrian Loksey, the promise of good food soothing her spirits for the first time in weeks.

"Where is Illana?" The marshal asked, excitement bristling through her speech.

"She usually sits with me at that table," Adrian said, indicating a place on the right side of the room towards the entryway. "Come, let us sit. It seems she has not arrived yet, but I am sure she will join us when she does."

Delilah huffed unpleasantly, yet knew her options at this moment were limited. Adrian had no reason to lead her astray so she deigned to trot after the scout, her boot heels clicking on the smooth marble beneath her soles. The peeved paladin slid silently into her seat, the firm wood cushioning her rough manner of seating herself; even her movements betrayed the slight air of annoyance that plagued her personage. The scout seated himself across from her, exerting his face to form a fraudulent smile; even Adrian was not so foolish as to assume Delilah would simply begin to like him in this sort of a situation.

Adrian cleared his throat, stringing out a sequence of syllables in hopes of making some sort of coherent conversation to pass the time until Illana's arrival. "So…" the scout began, the words falling awkwardly from his lips and dropping lifelessly to the table's surface.

If the words reached the paladin's ears, she made no indication as such. Delilah stared at her food, focusing on shoving mouthfuls of vittles as if the opportunity to eat would never arise again. Though these foodstuffs were of fairly average grade, they were fine delicacies to the taste buds of someone who had subsisted for the past several months on nothing but dried fruits, salted meat, and limp mushrooms scrounged from the few places in the Plaguelands not corrupted by the hands of Death.

Adrian could not blame Delilah for her attitude, though he wished desperately to make amends. _To be honest, I have not thought of her in so long,_ considered the archer, staring as the marshal shoveled carrots and peas into her mouth. _But I still wish to reconcile with her…if I cannot gain her friendship, what will result if Illana and I…_

"Adrian!"

The scout whipped around as the excited voice called to him from a few feet away.

"Is that…Delilah?" The voice chortled again, glee echoing across the mess hall. A lithe figure plopped herself down beside Adrian.

Delilah immediately raised her head towards the source of the voice, a smile budding on her lips. "Illana?" Even saying the name seemed a marvel. The paladin rushed around the side of the table and grabbed her friend, hugging her tightly. "I'm so glad you're alive!'

"Likewise…" Illana gasped as Delilah's arms threatened to crush her thin half-elven frame. The paladin released her from the grip, allowing the mage to speak. "You must tell me of your travels. What did…"

"Later," Delilah cut her off. "For now let's eat, I'm famished. Once we find a place to speak one on one, I will tell you everything. Speaking of which," she eyed Adrian as she continued her thought, "where exactly am I to sleep?"

"Just find an empty cot in the Southern Barracks and leave some of your belongings on the bed," Adrian replied. "Housing is the only informal system in this whole place. Hell, some people even switch beds night to night…in the long run it makes little difference, since wherever you are you report to the Barracks Commander in combat situations, and unlike the heads of the Scarlet Monastery the leaders here prefer not to get too close to their underlings."

"Got it," Delilah said, thankful for his explanation but wishing she could have asked someone, anyone else. At this rate, she was actually going to owe the young Loksey a few favors for all his assistance.

Delilah passed the remainder of the meal in silence, taking gulps of food while surveying the scene shiftily. Judging by the number of familiar faces in the room, Delilah surmised that the majority of the Scarlet Band lived in or at least had been sent to the Southern Barracks for the moment. Even so, at least a third of the individuals in the room were unfamiliar to the young woman.

Laughter caught Delilah's attention and she focused on the two soldiers seated across from her. A strange pageant passed before her: Illana and Adrian chuckled, nudged each other with their arms, and even seemed to gaze longingly at one another. Just what exactly had transpired between these two…?

"…so you'll meet me tonight, then?" These words brought Delilah into readiness, about to reject Adrian's statement before she realized it was not directed at her.

"Of course, behind the eastern chapel then?" Illana answered.

"Yes, there's something I must tell you," conviction strong in Adrian's voice.

Delilah wasted no more time. Snorting, the paladin left the table.

"Wait, Delilah! When I am to meet you to discuss your journey?" Illana called, rushing after her friend. The paladin turned, narrowed her eyes and barked raggedly.

"It can wait until after you finish your tryst. Come find me tomorrow if you have the energy." Without another word, Delilah stormed out of the room. _Why would Illana be interested in a scoundrel such as that? Does she want to throw away her life?_

_

* * *

_"What's your motive?" Aurora growled again, her fear of moments before banished as she addressed her former underling.

"Must I say it again so you will believe me?" Sonja sighed wearily. "I wish to introduce you to the other high ranking officials in Tyr's Hand. I feel it is best to allow you to know who you will be working under…"

"…or to remind me that I have no power here," Aurora muttered, teeth gritted.

Whether Sonja heard the comment or not mattered little, for the priest beckoned for Aurora to follow her. "Come, we shall dine with them in the halls of the Councilor's Quarters." The Inquisitor readied herself to retort about her lack of hunger, but at that very moment her stomach growled, the sound reverberating off the marble and wood walls around them. Her body betraying her, Aurora nodded drearily and followed after the priest.

Their journey was short, for Abbendis's tower was located near the Elites District of Tyr's Hand, an area that housed the high-ranking overseers of the city. While most of the buildings in the city exhibited the grandeur of humanity's zenith, the Councilor's Quarters resembled a hastily-built and shabby construction. It was a squat building of only two floors, the lower level consisting of kitchens, mess halls, and a small armory, while the upper floor housed the Councilors' bedrooms which were as sparsely furnished as those of their soldiers. The exterior showed signs of poor upkeep: masonry chipped off the walls and the banners of the Crusade that hung from the walls were threadbare and torn.

"It is more important to keep the majority well stocked and in good shape," Sonja cut in before Aurora could insult the High Councilor's new abode. "What little limestone and granite we can dredge from the quarry goes towards patching the walls. Though we are leaders, we must endure for the good of the Scarlet Crusade." Sonja turned to Aurora as if expecting a sharp reply, but the latter remained silent. Shrugging, Sonja led her through the building's iron-banded door, down a short hallway, and into the Councilor's Dining Hall.

Torches attached by iron rings lit the petit room, casting shades across the faces of four figures seated around a table made from acacia wood, perhaps the only luxury in this simple space. The individuals seated in the room stared towards the archway that led into the chamber, their faces stern as they eyed the two figures. Sonja nodded to them, and they nodded back in unison, as if each could read the writ of her thoughts. The priest walked towards the table and indicated a convenient extra guest chair for Aurora which, the paladin assumed, rarely saw use. The Inquisitor seated herself.

A plate of roast chicken greeted Aurora as she took her place at the table. In the half-light, the food had been invisible from a distance but now it greeted her. Without waiting to be bid, the paladin dug in, tearing off scraps of meat in wolfing them down as if the hunger of the wilds consumed her.

"Your friend sure has an appetite," a gruff voice across from Aurora commented. The paladin looked up, noticing the distance between herself and the speaker. The table was larger than it had appeared when they entered, and it seemed all the other High Councilors sat at least five feet from Sonja and herself; this made these individuals appear even more mysterious, the features remaining cloaked by the room's shadows.

"No need to be so rude, Horace," a hoarse voice that sounded as if it belonged to someone in his or her old age rasped from beside the first speaker. "The poor lass clearly hasn't had a good meal her whole journey. Sonja and her company were the same way when they first arrived."

"It is still poor etiquette to start the meal before introducing herself," flamboyant phrases floated from a third speaker, sitting to the left of Horace. "I slaved away on these dishes I will have you know! At least our last guest was polite…"

"Winston, becalm yourself," the gravelly voice of the elder retorted, and in the darkest it appeared as if his or her fist boxed Winston's ear. "She will give us her tale in due time. If past instances are anyway indication, we will all be here until sun-up listening anyway."

"Yes, Emile is right," Horace interjected. "I, for one, look forward to hearing her story."

"You expect me to tell a tale when I cannot even see your faces?" Aurora grumbled between mouthfuls of succulent poultry. "Use more torches or at least make some light with Holy Magic."

"Couldn't you do that yourself?" Sonja stated.

"You miss the point, Sonja," Aurora's anger started to boil. "This is about showing _respect_. They talked about excitement at having a guest yet decline to even properly introduce themselves. I shan't give my name until they give me theirs and allow me to see them fully."

"I'd like to do that, miss, but you see Del hates light," Horace said, the shadow of his hand pointing at the figure next to him who had so far remained silent. "Tomorrow, I promise you can meet us all. Del usually stays here and deals with our supply management papers, so I am afraid you may have to wait until he is feeling social."

"As if I feel the least bit social now…" grumbled Aurora, finishing her last mouthful. She sighed, realizing any attempt to escape or ignore their requests would risk a fight; Aurora was confident in her fighting ability, but even she knew five versus one rarely ended well, especially when the five were high-ranking Scarlet Crusaders.

"Fine, I shall begin my tale from the beginning. I'm sure Sonja has given you her side of the story, but much of what she has said is false of skewed, this I do not doubt." Aurora noticed a flagon to her right and took a swig of the cider inside. Wiping her mouth on her sleeve and clearing her throat, she began her tale.

* * *

"Damn Adrian, and damn Illana too," Delilah whined as she lay on her back atop her chosen bunk in the Southern Barracks. She was thankful she had found a room where few beds had been claimed, and currently only three or four other soldiers were present. The paladin sighed as she stared at the ceiling above her, attempting to find patterns in the spackle. Even if the two had feelings for another, Delilah refused to accept it: Illana was intelligent and skilled, while Adrian was the bastard child of a weak-willed commander who died pointlessly despite what his son said. Something miraculous must have happened while the two served Sonja's Faction in order for them to get together.

Like a wave, tiredness from her travels washed over Delilah and, losing all control, she drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

"There you are! It took long enough to find you!"

Delilah sat up, the voice stirring her into wakefulness. The paladin looked to the source of the sound to see Illana standing beside her cot.

"I am exhausted, leave me be," Delilah said, turning away from the mage and retiring under the covers once more.

"Please…allow me to explain…"

"What is there to explain?" A sudden fury filled Delilah and she rose from the bed to stand face to face with her friend. "You have chosen that sullen rascal!"

"It isn't that simple!" Illana retorted, anger for once filling the normally calm demeanor of the half-elf. "You haven't even given me a chance to explain…"

"I cannot talk anymore, out of my way," Delilah pushed Illana aside as she headed out of the barracks. The mage trapsed after her begging for an audience.

"I am going for a walk, _alone_," Delilah roared back at her companion. "I need some time to myself, all right?"

Illana suddenly became meek once more, retreating deeper into the barracks, nodding at the back of the paladin as she exited the complex. _If only I could make you understand that Adrian is a good man…_

Delilah huffed as she left the barracks, shivering slightly in the cool night air. At least this would give her a chance to explore Tyr's Hand; luckily, one of the other soldiers informed her that members of the Southern Barracks were not on guard duty tonight and thus she possessed the freedom to do as she wished. Turning north, Delilah decided to take a stroll through the apple orchards first.

* * *

"…and there you have it, my story told for the second time since I arrived," Aurora finished, taking another gulp of cider and exhaling contentedly as she sweet liquid soothed her parched throat.

"A fine tale," Horace stated.

"Yes, quite good, what do you think, Winston?" Emile asked.

"Passed the time, I suppose," Winston wailed, vibrato filling his voice. "Del seems to like it too, judging by the way he's nodding."

"Glad you enjoyed it," Sonja said happily, speaking as if she had supplied the evening's entertainment. "It is still early, though. I expected Aurora's story to have taken longer."

"I speak quickly and leave out filler," the paladin mumbled into her mug. She slammed the wooden container on the table, causing a hollow sound to echo across the room. "How about you tell me a little more about Tyr's Hand in exchange, eh?" Aurora asked.

"I have told you what there is to tell," said Sonja, "save important secrets, of course."

"Well…fine," Aurora thought for a second before speaking slowly. "How about telling me some more about Herod? And what others of your troops survived?"

Sonja stroked her chin for a second as she thought, before raising an index finger as a spark ignited in her brain. "Ah, there may be one story that is particularly interesting to _you_, Aurora," Sonja said, a sinister edge coating her words.

"Enough of this blather, just tell me straight out," Aurora demanded, slamming her gauntleted fists on the table for emphasis.

"Well, it concerns some others who saw fit to leave your domineering leadership of the Scarlet Band," Sonja began, taking a gulp from her own flagon as much to sate her thirst as to raise Aurora's ire by delaying the report another instant.

"Others?" Confusion was evident in Aurora's voice. "I do not think…"

"What did you expect? I am sure they were so unimportant as to be beneath your notice," Sonja replied haughtily. "Their leader told me they left several days after we did, realizing that our decision was correct. They hoped to catch up with us, but could not find our path and ended up taking an alternate route. We met them on our way to Tyr's Hand after leaving the High Elves' lodge."

"Impossible," Aurora shook her head. "You forget that Elric serves me directly. None escape his gaze. After you all left, he reported the name, rank, and profession of every single soldier who left with you. He would have let me know if something like this occurred."

"Even Elric must make mistakes," Sonja retorted. "Their poor leader, a lad named Maxwell Mason…"

"Wait," Aurora interrupted. "What was his name?"

"Maxwell Mason. He led the troops…"

"Take me to him immediately," Aurora yelled hastily. "I should have been more thorough in my story…I will explain on the way."

Aurora bolted for the door, but Sonja blocked her way as the other High Councilors stood. "I cannot let you do that, Inquisitor. I order you to remain," Sonja stated.

"Damn it all, we're in grave danger!" Aurora growled. "We have no time to waste!"

* * *

Delilah whistled briskly to herself as she strolled past one of the stables, pausing for a moment to admire the fine steeds within. After a moment, she continued her ambling, turning towards the gates of Tyr's Hand. They were fine pieces of work, elaborately carved and boasting the power of the Scarlet Crusade. Truly, Tyr's Hand stood as a thorn in Arthas's side, a reminder that humanity still had a presence in these lands even in these cursed times.

A strange, soft clinking sound entered Delilah's ears. It sounded as if it came from the gates, and she moved to investigate. As she came closer, she surmised it was the sound of moving chains and saw the gates slowly swing open. A lone figure directed the other guards who turned cranks that allowed the massive doors to move aside.

Horror etched itself across Delilah's face as she came closer and saw who the figure was: standing not ten feet from her was the figure of Maxwell Mason. His body seemed perfectly intact despite his beating and, of course, subsequent death. _There is no way the Inquisitor would have allowed someone like him to live! It goes against every word of her moral code!_ Delilah's mind raced as she charged towards the specter.

"Maxwell Mason! How the hell is a bastard like you still alive?" Delilah roared, drawing her hammer. The soldier turned, his face in perfect shape, as if he had never suffered blows from a torturer's weapons.

"Ah, pretty miss Delilah, I was hoping to see you again," Maxwell chuckled. "And just in time, too. You are about to be the first victim of the Massacre of Tyr's Hand!"

"What the fuck are you talking about you corrupt cur?" Delilah demanded, eyeing him warily and balancing her weapon to strike at the right moment.

"See for yourself."

At that exact instant, the gates of Tyr's Hand opened fully, exposing the city to the expanses of the Eastern Plaguelands. A hideous wave of undead creatures stood just outside the gate, a veritable sea of corpses. As one, the monsters rushed into the unprotected underbelly of Tyr's Hand.

Character Profile: Brigitte Abbendis

Age: 31

Rank: High General of the Scarlet Crusade, Leader of Tyr's Hand, former Colonel of Tyr's Hand, former Major of the Silver Hand

Affiliation: Leader of Tyr's Hand, former member of the Silver Hand

Abilities: Abbendis is one of, if not the, most skilled paladins in the Scarlet Crusade. Her skills at wielding the Light as well as her hand to hand combat skills are top notch, and there are few humans who can equal her in battle. She usually fights with an enchanted mace, _Crellen's Comet,_ and shield, though she has trained with a plethora of melee weapons.

Appearance: Abbendis is six feet one inch tall and has a fairly buff build for a woman. Her hair is reddish-brown and usually ties it in a bun atop her head in order to keep it out of her eyes during battle. Her eyes are the color of a chilled lake's waters. She wears a thick suit of enchanted red plate-mail armor as well as an intricate Scarlet Crusade tabard.

HES: The Scarlet Band is in Tyr's Hand at long last, but it seems a lot has changed with their former comrades and the systems in this city will take some getting used to. Even so, it seems Maxwell has somehow survived and is poised to lead the destruction of Tyr's Hand! Will the Scarlet Crusade be able to rally to repel this threat? You'll have to read next time to find out!

I hope you all liked this chapter. To be honest, this was probably my favorite chapter to write so far. I have a lot of ideas for the next few chapters which promise to be even more exciting! As always, please leave a review if you have any comments and/or just enjoyed the chapter! Thanks for all your reviews so far, and I will see you all in the next chapter!


	18. Fields of Malevolence

Chapter 18: Fields of Malevolence 

Delilah's body shook with fear as she gazed upon the mass of undead creatures swarming through the open gates of Tyr's Hand. Individual troops were indistinguishable in the half-light of a weak crescent moon, causing the undead to seem like a single, monstrous entity.

"Beautiful, is it not?" Maxwell chuckled, placing a hand over his mouth in a mock attempt to control his laughter. The former Scarlet Crusader strode towards Delilah slowly, horror freezing her in place. "What will you do, beautiful? If you beg I will let you join us and save you from suffering. What do you say?"

Delilah snapped to attention as Maxwell came with a few feet of her. She jumped back, hammer at the ready, her eyes narrowed. "I don't have a clue how you survived, but after I kill you, it will be easy to alert the guards."

"Oh, it won't be that easy…" Maxwell declared. "You see…"

Not a second later, Delilah hammer slammed into Maxwell's face, holy energy adding force to the blow. Chips of bone and pieces of skin flew in the air, splattering across Delilah's breastplate. As she watched Maxwell's headless body tumble lifelessly downward, it went through a startling change: his skin began to rot as he hit the ground his body resemble one of the undead.

_What sorcery is this? _Delilah paused for a moment to collect herself, before realizing the impending threat of the undead army. _There will be time to consider all of this later, for now I need to rouse the guards._ The paladin wasted no time rushing away from the undead mass pouring into the unprepared Tyr's Hand, her voice rising over the tramp of thousands of skeletal heels.

"The undead have breached the gate! We're under attack! To arms! To arms!" Delilah roared, her voice reaching a violent crescendo. Her throat felt ragged with each call, but she did not let up as she raced between the buildings of Tyr's Hand. One by one, groggy soldiers roused themselves, grabbing axes, swords, hammers, or whatever else was at hand as they traipsed out of their abodes. Most looked quizzical until their eyes saw the truth of Delilah's pronouncement: the Scourge had indeed pierced this bastion of the Light. The soldiers of the Scarlet Crusade rushed to meet the oncoming horde as Delilah herself continued her quest to sound the alarm.

Delilah's ears rang with the heaving palpitations of her heart, the girl taxing her body to its limit as she sprinted through the streets. Her lungs burned with each breath, but she continued her duty, sounding the alarm as hundreds of Scarlet Crusaders rushed into battle. She did not dare turn to look at the melee unfolding behind her, and prayed that somehow this undead menace could be stopped.

_I must have faith in the Light, I must have faith in the Crusade,_ the mantra repeated in her head. _Tyr's Hand is the greatest bastion of humanity in Lordaeron…it will not fall…it CANNOT fall…_

Delilah heaved, searing pain in her legs forcing her to cease running. She panted, daring to steal a glance behind her. Already, fires had sprung up on some of the buildings, no doubt lit by the arsonists of the Scourge. Bodies from both sides dropped like autumn leaves, but from this range it was difficult to tell who held the upper hand. Delilah took a final deep breath and drew her hammer. _The din of this battle is loud enough that soldiers will hear it whether I call to them or not. The time has come to fight for my cause…and perhaps even make a name for myself!_ The paladin roared, a guttural mass of emotion bellowing from her ribcage as she charged into the mass of undead.

Wisps of scarlet and gray flashed in Delilah's peripheral vision as her hammer rose and fell, her azure devotion aura gleaming brightly as she maneuvered through the mass of warriors. There was no semblance of order in her movements, no tactics or strategies cooking in her brain. All that existed was a single-minded desire to slaughter the impure.

* * *

"Damn it all," Aurora's face flushed as she rushed from the chamber of the Councilor's Dining Hall. Her hands instinctively reached to her belt, untying the leather straps around her enchanted hammer. Her hands tightened, her rage flowing into her grip on the weapon. She was unsure if the High Councilor's were behind her or if they were content to sit and speak while their troops died, but she did not care; all that mattered to her was suffering brought upon the bodies of the Scourge.

The sounds of battle had been far from the Elite's District, but the growing cacophony could not remain contained. Already, soldiers poured from every building, meeting undead in the streets and fields of Tyr's Hand with brawn and blade, strategy and spellcraft. Arrows flew from towers, deflecting off pitted and rusting armor or occasionally piercing a joint and laying low a creature of darkness.

Aurora joined the throng of red warriors massing around the buildings of the Elite's District. Already, several structures were aflame as undead arsonists wielding torches rushed about setting the place ablaze, oblivious to the weapons that pierced their rotting bodies. Sadistic necromancers cackled as they resurrected foes so recently slain by the Scarlet Crusade, or even brought the corpses of former paladins and priests to their side. Wave after wave of horrors lurched forward. Lines broke and men scattered, their fear of death and what may come after overwhelming their will to fight.

"Turn around and fight! Did you not take the Oath of the Crusade? Did you not _swear_ to strike down the corrupt wherever you stand?" Aurora bellowed over the battle as soldiers ran past her. "Stay and fight you cowards!" Aurora grabbed the arm of a youth, not more than fourteen, and stared into his eyes beneath his comically oversized iron helmet. "Boy, join the lines. We need to hold strong."

"M…master Silas is dead!" The boy sobbed. "And Thomas, and Tony, and…."

"When I was your age I knew the value of loyalty. Fight the undead, avenge your friends. I will stand beside you." Aurora replied, her normally cold voice somewhat supportive and soothing.

The boy turned and looked at her, nodding slowly as he gripped his spear and turned back towards the undead horde rushing towards them.

"We will have vengeance!" Aurora roared, smiling as she watched the boy charge forward and plunge his spear into the flank of a Crypt Fiend. A second later, the insectoid creature turned and closed its mandibles about the boy's head, crushing his skull instantly. Aurora smiled, _You died with honor, child. Now I shall be the one to avenge you._

And with that, she rushed into the mass of blood and bone.

* * *

Adrian Loksey's quiver was empty.

It had been almost an hour since he joined the fray, but already the young scout had fired every shot he could. A frenzy of shafts had erupted from his bow, firing indiscriminately into the mass of animated cadavers. Adrian drew his short sword, sidestepping a Scarlet Crusader locking his battleaxe with the blade of a skeleton clad in pitch colored armor. The lad's eyes scanned the battlefield, desperate for a new reserve of arrows.

"Any luck Illana?" Adriana called to his paramour.

"No," the half-elf answered. Her eyes blazed with blue aether as she peppered an Abomination with missiles of magic. In this chaos, it mattered not if she tapped into her reserves of arcane energy; the Scarlet Crusade had bigger things to worry about than blasphemy when a veritable army of the dead entered their holiest sanctuary.

"Thanks anyway." Adrian finished his sentence just in time to roll out of the way as a blast of necromantic magic whizzed by his back. He rose to his feet and gazed the necromancer who had targeted him just in time to see a rain of slender silver slivers slice apart the dark mage. He turned back towards Illana and winked. "Thanks, think you can cover me while I search the western field?"

"Of course," Illana said, teleporting a short distance to appear aside Adrian. She waved her hands, causing a wall of sapphire light to encircle their bodies.

"A shield?" Adrian asked.

"Not exactly, this is a spectral distortion spell," Illana paused when she saw the archer did not understand. "It makes use invisible to the naked eye…but I cannot keep it up long, so we need to move fast."

"If you can keep up!" Adrian tried to remain jovial in the face of all the carnage. _Illana has already suffered so much…she should not have to bear any more…at least not alone. _Adrian kept his eyes focused on the ground, half to scan for discarded arrows and half to avoid gazing at the devastation unfolding around him. A river of blood already meandered among the ragged and broken bodies scattered pell-mell across the holy grass of Tyr's Hand. The archer's eyes wandered to this wanton carnage, an action he quickly regretted. Adrian clasped his hand over his mouth, fighting his gag reflex: he had seen destruction in the months past, but nothing on this scale or of this caliber. Even the attack by the Forsaken in the caves of Plaguelands paled in comparison to the horror before his eyes.

"There," Illana indicated a quiver strapped to the back of a fallen archer, his body almost entirely covered by the remains of a crypt fiend. She turned, seeing Adrian's frightened and squeamish expression, watching him change his face to complete sternness as he noticed her gaze. She turned to him and brushed her hand against his face, "You do not need to try and seem strong for me. If you are afraid, it is all right to show it. Here," Illana waved her hand and a flash of magical flame incinerated the crypt fiend and the fallen Scarlet Crusader, leaving only the singed quiver and the dozen or so shafts inside.

"Thank you…" Adrian said, bending down to pick up the arrows, placing them in his own quiver as he stood. "Now let's return to battle, the Scarlet Crusade needs all the help it can get!"

* * *

_Who the hell cloaked those Undead as Scarlet Crusaders? _This thought rushed through Delilah's mind as she swung her hammer through the chest of a skeletal soldier. Earlier, she had watched as other apparent Scarlet Crusaders descended upon their fellows, before revealing rotting skin and cracked bones upon their demise. _I do not know much about magic, but I know most spells have limited range. The caster must be nearby…he's probably within the city walls._

Delilah ducked and rolled under the blade of another skeleton warrior, standing just in time to parry another swing with her hammer haft and drive her weapon's head through the creature's body. _I hope there is not a traitor in our midst…no, that cannot be, the undead from the outside, and thus the spell must have been cast before they arrive. Unless…the caster disguised himself as well. _

Like a bolt of lightning, thoughts coursed through Delilah's mind. _If the caster is here he'd want to remain out of sight to sustain his illusion and continue to sow dissent, but he would be somewhere where he could direct the troops and see their positions…of course, the tower in the Scarlet Basilica!_ Delilah's eyes turned instinctively to the spires above that great bastion of the Light, its alabaster walls still shining despite the gloom of the night and the horrific conflict. The building, however, lay far from Delilah's position. Her eyes scanned the battlefield: before her hundreds of soldiers engaged in combat, the Scarlet Crusaders fought valiantly, but it was evident they lost ground with each moment. With every human death, another undead warrior rose as Necromancers set about their unholy travails. Delilah realized that any attempt to ford this sea of soldiers would take too long; this malicious mage needed to be located and put to the sword. Delilah's eyes scanned for a solution, landing on the parapets of Tyr's Hand. The paladin turned and rushed towards a staircase leading up the battlements. _These platforms run around the entire extent of the walls, _Delilah thought. _They can give me a faster route to the basilica. _

Sentries already lined the walls, pouring hails of crossbow bolts and holy magic into the undead below. Delilah pushed through them, ignoring their calls of annoyance as this young paladin coursed through their lines. The battlements had been built during the years leading up to the Second War, and as such possessed wide walkways, enough to allow several men to take on a few Orcs or their bulkier allies, the Ogres, should such enemies reach the outer walls. A thin woman, Delilah slipped through the sentries' ranks with ease, the wide pathway beneath her feet easily lending itself to her endeavor. As her boots clacked against the stone beneath her feet, her eyes shot towards the Scarlet Basilica. _I will find that mage and kill him, it shall be my chance for vengeance, my chance for glory…_

* * *

Screams of agony and a trail of bodies greeted Adrian and Illana as they headed back towards the battle, navigating around the western barracks. A slick ocean of blood washed over the ground, drowning the corpses of man and undead as it lapped slowly to and fro, rising and ebbing with a ghastly tempo. Adrian choked back his urge to gag, turning to place his hands over Illana's eyes. The archer looked towards the source of this madness and gasped in horror, causing him to lower his palm and expose Illana to the monster before them.

The figure stood alone amid the carnage, his ebon armor curving in shapes and patterns almost incomprehensible by the mortal mind. The plates of this material looked as if they were crafted of hardened skin and interspliced with the bones of his victims. Atop his head, the skull of a demonic creature with three massive horns adorned his head, putrid viridian ichor streaming from beneath the twisted visor made of the fallen monster's eye sockets. His hands gripped a cruel curved blade at least six feet in length, the weapon perhaps as long as the individual himself was tall. Across its blade, twisted runes written in an ancient and horrid script gleamed, their frosty cerulean forms appearing to morph in and out of the weapon itself. Gore slid slowly from the weapon's tip, dripping unfeeling onto the multitude of corpses surrounding his frame.

"Who's…next…" the figure growled, his voice like a mixture of a dying man's last rasps and the snarl of a caged wolf. Already, the few dozen Scarlet Crusaders that remained in the area shivered back slightly, not wishing to share the fate of their fallen friends but knowing that to flee would only mark them as a target for this Knight of Death or one of his acolytes.

Adrian shifted to his side, moving to stand beside a soldier gripping the haft of a short pike. "Who or what is that?"

"His name is…Baros the Gore-Master," the soldier replied with fear in his voice. "He already struck down two of the Councilor's, and if they cannot stand against such a monster, who can?"

"I…seek….a…challenge…" Baros's voice wafted across the battlefield, as if hoping to entice another soul to die in vain. "If…even….your…master…cannot…challenge…me…then…what..of…all…of…you? Face…me…as…one…and…perhaps…you…stand…a…chance…"

"It may be our only shot! Come on lads and lasses, let's tear into him!" Someone cried from the ranks of the Scarlet Crusaders. A cry went up from others, and soon a crimson tide rushed forth, melding with the rivers of blood at their feet.

"No you fools! It's a trick! You'll all be butchered!" Adrian cried, his voice cracking as he strained his windpipes for all they were worth. The sounds of the charge overshadowed his cry, and so the young man could only watch in horror as the lines of soldiers rushed to their doom.

Baros's blade flashed with unbelievable speed, chopping the first rank in half before they even realized the inevitability of their deaths. The weapon hacked to and fro, turning the Scarlet Crusaders into a fine mist of blood and a shower of bone and armor. Baros's feet did not move, but his stolid stance did little to deter his foes. They attacked wildly, their weapons not even glancing his dark armor as he finished them off without seemingly a thought. In less than two minutes the grand charge could be remembered only by the piles of corpses surrounding the Death Knight.

"Truly…pitiful…" The Death Knight grumbled, shaking his blade lightly to cause the excess entrails and skin to fall to the ground.

"Adrian, we need to get out of here!" Illana whispered, grabbing her beloved's arm. "There is no one else around, he will set his sights on us before we know it!"

"If we run we will die with a blade in our back," Adrian resolved, his voice stalwart. "Illana, if we die, we die bravely. If I have to die, I am glad it would be by your side."

"Do not talk like that! We can…" Illana's voice trailed off. "We were going to…"

Adrian shook his head. "You cannot plan for everything. Sometimes life intervenes. Come, let us face this monster together. Perhaps we can slow him down to give enough time for someone like General Abbendis to rally forces to come and finish him off." He took her hand in his and looked in her eyes. "Illana, I will always love you, in this life and beyond." And with that, the two engaged in a passionate kiss. The world seemed to melt as their lips met, the Scarlet Band, the Scourge, Tyr's Hand…all of it vanished as they locked in this one, endless moment. And yet, before they knew it, their bodies parted.

Illana squeezed Adrian's hand. "Let's give it our all, and fight until we have nothing left."

"My sentiments exactly," Adrian replied, a knowing smile on his face as he drew his bow. "Hey you bony bastard, care to find out how worthy we are as opponents?" Adrian released his hand and an arrow flew towards Baros. The missile edged towards the hole in the Death Knight's visor, but at the last moment the monster turned his head nary an inch, causing the missile to ricochet harmlessly off his dark helmet.

"Ah…defiance…I…will…enjoy…your…demise…" Baros turned towards Illana and Adrian, charging with unnatural speed. The half-elven enchantress channeled spells through her newly acquired dagger, yet even these enhanced blasts had no effect on the undead champion. Adrian leveled arrow after arrow, hoping to exploit a joint or chink in his foe's armor, but to no avail. Within seconds Baros stood before the two. He raised his blade slowly, as if savoring this moment before he would slaughter them. Adrian raised his bow to fire a final desperate shot, a final act of hatred against this villain.

Suddenly, Baros stumbled backward, clutching his chest, an arrow protruding from the center of his breastplate. Adrian looked shocked at his hands, an act mirrored by Illana.

"How?" Illana asked.

"Am I…really this strong?" Adrian wondered, watching as the Death Knight ripped the shaft from his chest, snapped it in twain, and resumed his battle stance unhindered.

"Of course you aren't, well not yet anyway," a voice echoed from behind the young Scarlet Crusaders. A figure jumped down from a nearby building to stand beside his comrades. "It looks like you could use some assistance."

"Who…the…devil…are…you?" Baros asked, his interest in this new adversary reducing the haughtiness in his voice.

"Me? My name is Elric Isana, a Captain of the Scarlet Band and the man who will be famous for putting an arrow through your skull."

* * *

Delilah slid down the polished stairs of Tyr's Hand's battlements, evading the clumsy blows of skeletal warriors and other hideous monstrosities summoned by the Scourge. All around her, the futile melee of the Scarlet Crusade swirled: each moment more and more red-clad soldiers fell to their deaths, only to have their bodies resurrected moments later by malicious and cackling Necromancers. Meanwhile, undead shrouded in the form of Scarlet Crusaders leapt from the ranks of their confused "allies" and set upon them with blade and spear. Delilah raced on, ignoring the carnage and horror, a mantra beating in her brain: _I must slaughter the wizard who has masked these Scourge scum…_

In the confusion of the battle, perhaps none realized this horrible truth save Delilah. Those that understood their "friends" were merely an illusory trick of the Scourge came to this conclusion only seconds before these masked monsters carved them into pieces. _This is my chance to be a true hero, for my name to go down in the history of the Scarlet Crusade. When elders tell their children of this battle years later none will forget the name of Delilah Corwin, Hero of Tyr's Hand!_ A smile crossed the paladin's face as she thought of the glory awaiting her, but dispelled it, recognizing that she needed to remain focused and prudent lest she die before completing her quest.

Delilah cut through swathes of undead soldiers rushing to block her path, her body pulsing with holy energy as her hammer whipped to and fro. Her eyes stared past the undead and onto the towering minarets of the Scarlet Basilica. The dour stone structure loomed like a lone warrior, rising above the carnage around it. Blood already splattered the outer walls and pieces of broken masonry littered the ground around the Basilica, these stones torn away by the roaring siege engines of the Scourge that even now Delilah could hear pelting the walls of Tyr's Hand.

Another catapult stone shook the walls of the Basilica as Delilah rushed through the open entryway and beneath the high gothic arch adorned with symbols of the Holy Light. The architects of the Scarlet Basilica intended it as a place of peace where the devout could relax and pray. Now, however, the building had become a site of war and, perhaps, of the vile machinations of the Scourge. It mattered little; Delilah had a mission to complete.

Delilah could not help but admire the artistry of the building as she rushed through the wide marble corridors. Tapestries of past heroes of the Scarlet Crusade and their victories hung like battle standards, evoking a sense of pride and purpose. Already, however, the young woman noticed the putrid signs of Scourge vandalism: pieces of cloth were ripped away, other silks painted with gruesome symbols etched in the blood of the fallen. "Sick bastards…" Delilah muttered, glancing at a tapestry of Alexandros Mograine, founder of the Scarlet Crusade, with burn marks on its edges, as if the Undead had hoped to send a message: they could have utterly destroyed the piece, but better to defile it to leave as a message of terror. Delilah felt not fear or anguish, only rage.

A feeling of dread washed over Delilah as she entered the Scarlet Basilica's central chamber. A room usually used for prayer, this room consisted of high, airy walls. Tall, beautiful, and exquisitely crafted stained glass windows lined the walls, allowing what little moonlight shown this night to shine into the chamber, illuminating portions of the room in a veil of disconcerting hues. The pine pews lining the floor lay empty and dark, shadows their only inhabitants. At the head of the room stood a raised dais with a wide altar of brass covered with a crimson cloth. A lone figure stood over the altar, spheres of azure and mauve magic swirling about his body as he chanted in a sickening tongue. An inky black cloak swirled about his body, a cowl of shadow-like material masking his face. The sanctuary's holy icons lay scattered about his feet, having been cast from the altar to remove any bit of sanctity from this hallowed hall.

Delilah walked down the central aisle between the pews deliberately, allowing her footfalls to echo from the ancient stone. She wanted the magister to notice her, to ready himself, to feel the same fear her comrades in arm felt. She wanted him to suffer.

"Your death is nigh, Scourge bastard," Delilah declared, hefting her warhammer towards the figure's cowled visage. "This is a place dedicated to the Light. You foul it with your vile existence and your wicked spell that even now deceives my allies."

The figure took no notice of Delilah, continuing his chanting unimpeded. "Fine then, if you shan't listen, then you shall die!"

Delilah grabbed her weapon with both hands and charged, roaring a battlecry at the top of her lungs. She raced up the few steps to the dais, jumped onto the altar to stand before the cretin. Her maul flew towards the mage's skull with bone-crushing force as the paladin pushed her entire weight into the blow, the weapon glowing as she poured holy magic into the strike. The thing raised its left arm, catching the haft of the weapon. Delilah's eyes went wide as the necromancer raised his right hand and let loose a blast of chartreuse necromantic energy that flung her backwards. Her body crashed into one of the pews, splintering the wood with crushing force.

"Fine, paladin. I shall take your challenge," the necromancer walked forward to stand on the altar. He raised his hands towards the ceiling, moonlight flooding through the stained glass window behind him to illuminate his shrunken and rotting arms. Dark ley-energies whirled around his hands as he cackled maniacally. "I shall delight in your demise!"

* * *

"Isana…branch…of…Wrynn…" Baros sighed. It seemed he had a hint of glee in his voice, if a Death Knight could feel anything of the sort. "Good…I…shall…enjoy…this…" Baros hefted his blade and dug his feet into the once pure soil of Tyr's Hand before springing forward with unbelievable agility for an individual of his size.

"Get back, harrow him with magic and arrows if you can, but leave the main work to me," Elric barked as Baros barreled towards the archer captain, Illana, and Adrian. The youths needed no second order and hastily rushed aside, Adrian racing left while Illana headed right. Elric appeared courageous and detached as he always did, fitting a bolt into his trusty crossbow and letting it fly towards a chink in the Death Knight's armor near a joint in his right shoulder. The bolt bit deep, the steel plunging through the undead flesh beneath. Baros growled but otherwise seemed unhindered, continuing his mad dash forward.

_Damn it all, even holy silver was that ineffective?_ Elric considered, drawing another one of the blessed missiles and fitting it into his weapon, cranking the drawstring to reload his weapon and he rushed backwards, hoping to make some distance between himself and the engine of destruction that was Baros. The marksman ducked behind a low stone wall and fired another shot, this one towards the Death Knight's helmet. Alas, the mighty warrior raised his sword with unerring speed; the bolt glanced against the blade and ricocheted harmlessly to the dirt. Without time to load his crossbow, Elric drew his bow and knocked an arrow.

Stones crashed against Elric's body and he was thrown to the ground. Baros's armored form broke through the stone wall, sending bricks flying into the hapless captain. Elric instinctively crouched and rolled back, fighting against the pain and narrowly missing a swift sweep of the beast's runeblade. He had no time to rest as Baros raised his weapon and stepped forward. Elric ducked below another swing, drawing a throw knife and tossing it into the knee joint of Baros's armor. Surprisingly, the Death Knight buckled slightly, giving Elric the opening he needed to create more distance.

Baros removed his left hand from his sword and reached down to pull the dagger out of his kneecap. He studied the weapon momentarily before crushing it to bits in his gauntleted fist. He turned with purpose towards Elric, watching the Scarlet Crusader with interest, like a schoolboy studying an insect. "Holy…metal…clearly…you…acknowledge…my…power…"

_Damn, he is an entirely different level than that Death Knight we fought before, _Elric thought back to his fight against Tyrick the Shadow Cleaver in the Western Plaguelands. _I'm glad I saved my holy ammunition for this fight…but even so it seems to have little effect. Perhaps he is not shrugging off my injuries and merely has an intense resistance to pain?_

Elric ran, loading another arrow and firing it over his shoulder as he ducked through the streets of Tyr's Hand. Baros gained on him with each moment, the strides of the massive Death Knight covering twice Elric's own steps. The marksman noticed Illana and Adrian some distance behind Baros, peppering him now and then with arrows and magic that cracked or fizzled harmlessly off his enchanted armor.

More arrows flew from Elric's bow, their silver tipped heads flashing in the moonlight as the raced through the air. Though the average archer had difficult firing while moving, such was not the case for a marksman of Elric's caliber. He continued to fire into the weak points of his foe's armor, never halting his movement for even a second. Baros swung his sword as he ran, batting away some of the arrows, gusts from the blade's movement changing the course of others. Despite this, some arrows found their mark and the Death Knight growled at his foe's success.

Each second, however, Baros closed the space between Elric and himself. Within a minute, the Death Knight stood within striking range of his adversary. The archer attempted to tuck and roll, but felt a pain shoot through his knee. His legs gave way, and he toppled backwards, sprawling onto the cool grass. Elric tried to scramble upright, but a heavy boot slammed onto his ribcage. Elric screamed as the Death Knight pinned him, watching in horror as the creature raised its weapon.

"Away from him monster!" Adrian screamed, rushing forward and firing arrows. The shafts shattered on Baros's armor, though the Death Knight did turn his head to look at the boy. Illana stood beside him, charging a blast of arcane magic. She let loose the energy, eyes lighting up with eldritch fire as she poured all her power into the attack. Baros raised his blade, sweeping it down with a mighty force just as the magical power neared him, dissipated the blast into nothing as the energy from his runeblade counteracted the spell.

Baros turned back to his downed quarry, noting the fear in Elric's eyes. "You…fear…for…them…I…sense…it…"

"You can kill me, bastard, but my allies will defy you!" Elric roared, spitting at Baros's boot.

"You…seek…to…incite…my…rage…make…me…ignore…the…young…ones…"

"You fucking bastard! Illana, Adrian, run for your lives!" Elric's voice cracked as he strained it beyond measure, screaming louder than he ever had before. "Seek out others and kill this cretin!"

"You…will…watch…them…die…" Baros began, slinging his sword over his shoulder and turning away slightly. He lifted his boot, giving Elric the leeway to stand. The marksman wasted no time, rising to his feet and drawing his bowstring.

Elric met with pain beyond measure. He looked to see his bowstring slacken, the arrow drop harmlessly to the ground. He looked to his right and saw Baros's blade buried in the ground beside him. Elric's right arm, covered with blood, lay limp next to the weapon's edge.

"Come…shoot…me…now…" Baros said with dark glee. The Death Knight turned and ran towards Illana and Adrian.

Elric stood, unable to move, unable to comprehend the situation. He remained still, a bloody stump protruding several inches from his right shoulder the only reminder of the arm that had pulled his bowstring for over two dozen years. He looked into the distance, focusing his eyes as best he could, a feeling of hopelessness and dread washing over him.

The Death Knight raised his sword as he came towards Illana and Adrian. The boy turned and yelled something Elric could not hear before drawing a short sword and placing himself between the undead lieutenant and the girl. Baros raised his blade, ready for the killing blow…

…a flash of light temporary blinded Elric. As his vision cleared, he spied a figure locking weapons with Baros. Illana and Adrian stood, unharmed though visibly shaken. Standing before the Death Knight was a lone woman, her aura glowing brighter than that of any paladin Elric had ever seen in all his years of combat. He walked forward slowly, straining his ears to hear her voice.

"…Death Knight or no, all fall before Aurora Cronos, mighty leader of the Scarlet Band!"

* * *

Delilah wasted no time rising to her feet, allowing splinters from the cracked pews around her to cascade in a crackling torrent. Her devotion aura glowed brightly, and the paladin thanked this ability for dampening the magical strike that would no doubt have ended her life otherwise.

Delilah's gaze met the necromancer's cowl, the two studying each other for a moment as neither took action. A long moment passed, the only sound the clamor of battle outside the walls of the Scarlet Basilica. The paladin seized the initiative and sprung forward, pushing off what remained of the pews. She narrowly dodged a bolt of necromantic magic that flew her way, feeling the rotting energy singe a piece of her tabard. Delilah crouched and rolled behind another pew, just in time to shield herself from a shadowy bolt that rotted the wood to dust in mere seconds. The young woman wasted no time, rising and circling with renewed vigor towards the sacred altar.

Bolts of shadow cascaded around Delilah as she wove through the pews, hearing wood splinter as the cursed missiles slammed into the carved rows. She used these benches to her advantage, ducking and rolling behind the wooden barriers as necessary. The necromancer, if annoyed by her slipperiness, made no note of it, choosing to remain silent as he sent shower after shower of violet meteors in her direction. Little by little, Delilah moved closer to her foe even as dark blasts disintegrated the exquisite woodwork.

Soon, Delilah came to kneel behind the front row of pews. She was close to her foe, but there still stood a patch of open floor between the necromancer and herself. The paladin took a deep breath, her mind racing. She had mere seconds to choose a course of action, and so settled for the most obvious: charge!

Devotion aura gleaming untainted azure, Delilah Corwin gripped her warhammer and leapt over the final pew just in time for the wood to turn to dust beneath the necromancer's malicious magicks. The young woman ran in a zig-zag pattern hoping to throw of the necromancer's aim as she made for the dais. The undead mage became more fearful as his opponent neared, flinging bolts of energy with great speed but little focus, leading to clumsy attacks that either fizzled against Delilah's aura or missed entirely. A grim yet sinister smile crept across Delilah's face as she came within striking distance, hammer raised above her head. "Prepare to die!"

The necromancer turned as if to dodge the blow, but Delilah's keen accuracy followed him, the maul bearing down on his tainted skull. Then, in a flurry of hand motions, the necromancer caused a series of shimmering chains composed of dark ichor to erupt from the ground, binding Delilah's legs. A powerful blast of energy knocked the paladin onto her back, her legs still chained to the floor.

"How does it feel to know you will become an undead slave, Scarlet Crusader?" The necromancer sneered, pooling energy around his right hand as he prepared a blast to finish her off. Delilah struggled, attempting to pull her legs free of the magical binding. "It's no use, human, you're quite trapped." As the necromancer walked closer, Delilah saw that beneath his decaying cowl was the face of an Orc. Upon seeing this, the Scarlet Crusader's loathing grew. "All will serve the Scourge!" With that declaration, the necromancer raised both hands above his head, channeling more energy into his spell. The power coalesced into a massive mauve sphere which twisted and shimmered irregularly as it grew in size.

"Any final words?" The necromancer laughed. Delilah smirked.

"I won't die here."

Drawing on her reserves of power, Delilah flung her hammer with astounding force. The necromancer chuckled, sidestepping the weapon with ease. The paladin's smirk did not leave her face as the weapon crashed through the stained glass window behind the necromancer. A cascade of glass shards fell like a heavenly rain, the pieces of past heroes spearing and slicing the necromancer. He screamed in pain, his magical energies dissipating to the winds. Delilah stood, her bounds vanishing, and drew a dagger from her belt. She walked over to the necromancer, his body writhing with pain as the blessed glass bit into his rotting skin. "Ashes to ashes," declared Delilah viciously, driving the dagger into the necromancer's black heart. He shuddered for a few moments before his convulsions ceased. His body crumbled to ash leaving no remains of the villain. Delilah sheathed her dagger and looked to the opening where the window once stood proudly. _Forgive me, honored dead, for desecrating your memory. I swear that when we cleanse this land I shall see to it personally that a new window graces this sanctuary._

Delilah walked out of the Scarlet Basilica. Around her, the din of battle seemed to cease slightly in what she hoped meant victory for the Scarlet Crusade. She limped behind the building, still recovering from her wounds, and scavenged her hammer from within a patch of grass. She looked around, seeing no undead. A few Scarlet Crusaders marched here and there, nursing wounds and sheathing weapons. For a moment, Delilah thought the conflict over.

Then a familiar battle cry caught Delilah's attention. Her body acted independently, honed to battle-readiness these past few months. Her legs shook of their fatigue and thrust forward, plunging Delilah towards the source of the sound. The young paladin wove through buildings and around corpses, passing the odd struggle between human and monster without a thought for their conflicts.

The sounds of this warrior's assault continued to assail Delilah's ears as she rounded the side of a watchtower. In her haste, she did not notice a skeleton at her feet; her boot caught in its ribcage and she plummeted to the ground. As she rose to shake off the dust, Delilah gazed forward and saw a flash of crimson flitting between a curtain of black. Her eyes adjusted to the swirling melee and she recognized Aurora in conflict with a massive, undead soldier.

A swirling radiance ebbed and flowed around Aurora's body, the pure energy of the Holy Light swelling from her body. Delilah gasped: was this the fabled Penitent Aura? Legend had it that such a power manifested itself only once every ten generations and only in times of dire need. Given the almost fearful movements of the Death Knight, Delilah did not doubt that this was indeed the aura of legend.

The Death Knight Baros buckled under the assault, barely parrying the Light-infused blows of _Uther's Arm_. Aurora giggled slightly, her voice rising to almost a cackle, ringing alongside the blows of her hammer against Baros's armor. Great chunks of the enchanted metal cracked beneath the blows, falling to the earth and exposing the Death Knight's rotting flesh beneath.

"What's wrong, pawn of Arthas?" Aurora guffawed maliciously, licking her lips as she released in her righteous assault. "Can you not even stand against _one_ foe?"

Baros responded to such a declaration by digging his heels into the earth. Blocking a blow with his runeblade, Baros pivoted with unholy speed and slammed a mailed fist into the left side of Aurora's skull. The Inquisitor screeched as the blow broke through her aura and sent her sprawling. He loomed over his victim, pinning her weapon arm with one foot and crushing her chest with the other. His weapon poised, Baros prepared to deliver the coup de grace.

An arrow embedded itself through Baros's shoulder, piercing flesh exposed by Aurora's destruction of the monster's armor. The Death Knight stumbled backwards, more from amazement at the Scarlet Crusade's tenacity than from pain; Aurora required only this momentary respite, rolling sideways from beneath her foe's feet. She rose, pulled back her enchanted maul, pouring the Light's endless strength into the weapon. The glimmering golden globules of energy coalesced in a coruscating crown around the hammer's head.

"TASTE JUSTICE!" Roared Aurora, her arms moving with astounding speed as she slammed her weapon into Baros's helmet, pulverizing the black metal into mere shards. The Death Knight fell backwards, groaning slightly as his limp form fell.

Aurora panted as she surveyed her charge, the holy energy around her body dissipating. Barely able to stand, the Inquisitor turned and trudged towards her spectators. Delilah, Illana, and Adrian all stood with mouths agape, speechless to the display of power they just witnessed.

Aurora herself focused her eyes on Elric's body. The marksman attempted to crack a smile, wincing as he fought through the pain as his arm stump continued to bleed. His bowstring lay clutched in his mouth. _Talented enough to aim and fire using his mouth with his left arm braced the bowstave, while lying on the ground no less…truly astounding,_ Aurora considered. _That man deserves a promotion…and a hell of a lot of gold…_

A shuffling sound caught Aurora attention and she turned back towards Baros, weapon at the ready. The Death Knight heaved a final breath and hurled his runeblade in a last act of defiance. Aurora wheeled out of the way, the weapon passing her by. The Inquisitor charged the Death Knight, pounding his skull again and again with her hammer until nothing was left save broken shards of bone and dust; her assault was unnecessary, for Baros was dead before she even arrived at his corpse.

Wiping her brow, Aurora turned to face the onlookers. "Well…that was…" before she could finish, the paladin gasped. A grisly scene unfolded before her: Illana lay dead in Adrian's arms, the runeblade embedded through her throat. Tears streamed down the young archer's face.

"Why do you remain speechless, wench?" The voice caught Aurora off-guard as she looked towards Delilah, source of the curse. "Your cowardice and overconfidence cost Illana her life!" Delilah strode towards Aurora, accusations flying. "She was my only friend through all these horrors and tragedies and now she lies dead!"

"Delilah…enough…" Adrian choked through tears. "I loved Illana but it was not the Inquisitor's fault…"

"Hold your tongue, bastard," Delilah growled, "clearly you did not love her enough if you would forgive this travesty!"

"Delilah…I…" Aurora began to speak, stunned herself at this turn of events.

"We will settle this as we always intended," Delilah continued, pointing a damning finger at Aurora's chest. "There is still the matter of our duel. Meet me tomorrow at noon at the apple orchard. Be prepared to die." Delilah turned, striding away from the scene of carnage.

"Where are you going?" Elric managed to call after her, his face twisted in a mask of misery.

"Do you think we have run out of undead to kill this night?" Delilah's voice pierced as a blade through a heart. "If you still value yourselves, rise and let's kill some Scourge."

Character Profile: Baros the Gore-Master

Age: Unknown, at least over fifty

Rank: Morbid Lieutenant of the Knights of the Ebon Blade

Affiliation: Knights of the Ebon Blade, the Scourge

Abilities: Baros is a master swordsman but is also proficient in unarmed combat. It is unknown if he can wield necromantic magic.

Appearance: Baros stands at almost seven feet in height. He wears black armor of a ghastly design and origin. He wields a long runeblade, swinging the massive and heavy weapon with ease that exhibits his awesome strength.

HES: And so we reach the climax of our story! Illana is dead, Elric is crippled, and Delilah is full of rage! What will these develops hold for our motley band? Find out next time as we speed towards our tale's conclusion!

I must apologize to all my loyal readers for taking so long to finish this chapter. The first two-thirds of it were written during Summer, but once Autumn began, just one thing after another kept me from writing. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and I promise a swifter update for the next one. I really appreciate all of your patience and support. Until next time!


	19. Duel

Chapter 19: Duel

Smoke curled in thick black blankets over the roofs of Tyr's Hand. Not a full hour had passed since the final undead minion met his end, and yet already pyres had sprung up around the city. Wave upon wave of Scarlet Crusaders marched in tandem, carrying corpses of fellows and foes to the massive conflagrations. Bodies must be burned: they could take no chances.

Delilah's eyes held an implacable viciousness. The paladin scowled as she tossed the body of a soldier her own age into one of the massive fires. She turned, expression stolid, to march back and grab the body of another fallen warrior. Hatred boiled within her small frame. She had lost Illana, her only true friend through all the tribulations of the past months. Now, the half-elf was a mere corpse; it took all of Delilah's strength, both physical and emotional, to pry her cold body from Adrian's hands and throw it into one of the fires earlier this day. Though she barely looked back as the mage's remains, Delilah shed more than a few tears as she continued her grisly duty.

Adrian remained immobile, leaning against the side of a storehouse. The archer looked at his hands. _Useless. Weak. Pathetic. I could not protect the woman I love. I could not even fight worth a damn. What am I?_

* * *

Aurora sighed as she stood beside the bandaged body of her confidant, Elric. She had cauterized his arm wound herself and helped him ease through the shock of the damage by infusing soothing images of the Light through his mind via her Soul Scrying. The two exchanged few words as they stared at the aftermath of battle from atop the walls of Tyr's Hand.

"How many?"

"At least a third of our forces, maybe more," Aurora replied, not needing more detail to realize Elric referenced their casualties. The Scourge had truly concocted an expert plan: it was only at battle's end that a group of Scarlet Crusaders found an entire barracks of their fellows murdered within their beds, few clutching weapons to indicate that most were killed while still asleep.

"Are you going to accept the offer?" Elric's voice lacked his normal confidence and boyish charm.

"Perhaps, if I survive the duel." Aurora took a deep breath. "It's what Whitemane would have wanted. It's what…Baelin…would have wanted…" It almost pained the woman to say his name, to remember her former lover. _And I killed him. His death was…necessary. Yes, it must have been,_ she reassured herself.

"You are going to fight her, truly?"

Aurora shrugged. "I gave my word. Seems I'll have to kill another bright spirit."

"You can still decline…" Elric's voice was metered, lacking the usual spark he possessed. Truly, the loss of his arm harmed his heart as much as his body.

"And risk ignoring my principles? Risk looking like a coward? Never."

"So is it brave to slaughter an innocent girl, an _ally _no less?" Elric parried.

"It is nothing, save inevitable. She chose this path, and must face its consequences."

Aurora turned and strode towards the apple orchard, removing _Uther's Arm _from its leather strap. She gripped the weapon tightly, knowing that it would soon taste blood.

The Inquisitor thoughts turned to the Scarlet Band as she ignored the people milling about her to clean up the wreckage from the battle. The fall of the monastery seemed a lifetime away, almost as if it were a dream. The journey across Tirisfal Glades…the visit to Hearthglen…Baelin's death…the schism…traveling the Eastern Plaguelands…images of these events etherized in Aurora's mind, forming evanescent globes of solid thought.

_"When all of this is over, when Lordaeron is at last purified, then we'll have a life…together." _Aurora remembered Baelin's words from so long ago. Had they truly been lovers? Or was that merely a construction of her mind, too battered by the years of death and decimation to know truth from fantasy?

"It must have been real…" Aurora muttered to herself, studying Baelin's face in her mind's eye: the raven hair, the dark eyes, the handsome smile, the wondrous laugh…all of it dissipated the day she slaughtered her beloved. _Perhaps I did still harbor some feelings for him…perhaps that is why I had to kill him. _

_ "Attachment leads to suffering." _The precept of the Scarlet Crusade echoed in her mind. "Turn your focus to victory and purification of the world." Aurora repeated the next line out loud.

"Took you long enough, I said dawn did I not? The Sun has almost crested its first quarter." Delilah Corwin's voice snapped Aurora Cronos back to reality. Without realizing it, her legs pulled the Inquisitor to the orchard. The fulsome apples hung limply on the branches, their opulent, crimson forms swaying loosely in the breeze.

Delilah had been prepared for their duel since the moment the last Scourge soldier was put to the blade. She had not slept, and despite her lack of rest the last few months felt more energized than ever. In her right hand she clutched her simple warhammer, while her left index finger beckoned for her foe to approach.

"As you can expect, this is a no-holds-barred duel to the death," Delilah's voice was cold, unfeeling. All emotion, save hatred, had bled out with Illana's lifeblood.

Aurora chuckled a bit, regaining her normal confident demeanor. "Do you honestly think you possess the talents to kill _me_? I am a gifted paladin and a decade your senior. Were we the same age I would still slaughter you where you stand, given my natural talents for harnessing the Light. I will give you one chance: surrender now and let's forget this pointless fight."

"And miss a chance to crush you? Especially after such a cocky remark?" Delilah smirked, planting her feet and gripping her warhammer with both hands, hoisting it beside her right shoulder. Blue light swirled around the paladin as she called upon her devotion aura.

"What a waste…" Aurora muttered, taking the same stance and invoking her retribution aura, a swirling cascade of violet ebbing from her core. "I'd started to admire you, Delilah. You have truly grown strong. We should both live so that more undead may die." _And you remind me of myself at your age…_Aurora thought, knowing she dared not voice this belief.

"You had your chance to speak to me before the deaths of Baelin and Illana." Delilah's expression hardened further, her brow narrowing in defiance. "For them…I will smite you!"

Delilah charged, trees swirling around her as she approached Aurora. The Inquisitor batted as the first stroke, then turned to dodge a second. Rather than lose her balance, as Aurora expected, Delilah pushed off her forward foot and brought her maul to bear against Aurora's chest. Both paladins flew backwards, as the force from the weapon met with the punishment dealt by the retribution aura in the form of a mauve hammer that spiraled out to clunk against Delilah's right shoulder.

Aurora took the initiative, swinging _Uther's Arm_ in a wide horizontal arc. Delilah dropped to her knees and rolled backwards, missing a blow to the head by a mere hairsbreadth. The younger fighter swiftly recovered her footing. The two exchanged a hasty flurry of blows, as each warhammer pinged uselessly off the other. With each strike, however, Delilah could feel her weapon cracking under the strength of Aurora's attacks and the weight of her enchanted weapon.

Delilah jumped back, dodging behind a tree to avoid another of Aurora's assaults. The trunk shuddered as _Uther's Arm_ dented its pristine form, sending chunks of bark spiraling to the grass. The force of the attack sent waves of pain through the tree and into Delilah herself. The young blond took her moment to rush away from the tree, panting as she took up a new battle stance. Aurora approached, energy shimmering about her body.

In an instant, Aurora charged. Delilah smirked, kicking up her left foot. Dust flew straight into Aurora's eyes. The Inquisitor cursed, her aura weakening as the surprise broke her concentration. Delilah saw her moment and struck Aurora in the chest again and again, ignoring the small resistance offered by the Retribution Aura. Delilah could hear the sounds of cracking ribs as she hammered away.

Aurora fought through the pain, gritting her teeth while revitalizing her aura. She grabbed Delilah's right wrist before another blow could land. Delilah grinned viciously, removing her left hand from her hammer's haft and reaching for a dagger in her belt. In a flash, Delilah plunged the serrated weapon up to its haft in Aurora's right wrist.

"You little fucking bitch!" Aurora growled, fighting to keep _Uther's Arm _clutched in her right hand as she felt her wrist weakening. She instinctively removed her left hand from Delilah's wrist, clenched her fist, and punched the mailed hand across the younger paladin's face. The Devotion Aura deadened the impact slightly, preventing Delilah from losing several molars, but blood still gushed from her cheek.

Delilah stumbled under the impact. She heaved a breath as Aurora's fist slammed into her gut, sending air and blood flying from her open gullet. Her devotion aura wavered, then evaporated entirely into wisps of blue smoke. Delilah's world spun and she found herself on the ground, Aurora's extended leg indicating she'd suffered a kick to the head.

Aurora chuckled before breaking out into a gut-busting guffaw. "Prepared to die?" The Inquisitor asked, pushing her boot onto Delilah's chest to hold the paladin stationary. Delilah noticed that, somewhere during his disorienting fall, she had dropped her warhammer; the weapon now lay at the base of an apple tree, mere inches out of her reach.

"I'll give Baelin your regards." Retorted Delilah, malice in her speech.

Aurora raised _Uther's Arm_ high above her head, gripping it tightly with both arms. As she readied the weapon the world slowed. Her mind spun, memories reversing and turning as she thought of Baelin, knowing that Delilah's mind flowed with similar images.

* * *

_"That's the last of 'em," Baelin Briarbrand grunted. The master swordsman placed his boot firmly on the chest of the fallen zombie, pushing off with all his might to pull his sword free. Winter had arrived, and fighting the undead grew ever more difficult: weapons caught in their frozen frames, skeletal monstrosities hid beneath the snow, and even the inclement weather did nothing to discourage the Scourge's advance southward._

_Aurora scoffed, brushing fallen snowflakes from her bangs and turning towards her former lover. "There is nothing to celebrate, there will always be more."Aurora surveyed the stock of soldiers remaining after their onslaught against a pocket of Forsaken resistance in the Tirisfal Glades. They had left the Scarlet Monastery almost one hundred strong, and yet now barely sixty remained standing. _

_Cries of anguish reminded the standing troops of the numerous wounded. Baelin winced as he watched a man trudge past in pure agony, his body soaked in blood, two arrows and a broken axe head protruding from his chest. The swordsman rushed towards the injured man, catching him before he collapsed head first into the snow. The man turned his head and his lips curled into something resembling a grisly smile._

_Aurora could hear the man whispering to Baelin as the warrior fought to drag the figure through the snow that mired his path. Though her heart still beat with resentment for the man, she carried at least enough compassion to aid heroes._

_The man asked others to call him "Smitty," but Aurora had encountered him in her youth, though clearly the elder did not recall. In reality, his name was Philip Charles Microft, a noble of Alterac. Even now, few truly forgave Alterac for its betrayals during the Second War, and thus it was no surprise the man kept his real identity in check even if he merited respect. _

_Microft won his laurels at the Second Battle of Southshore during the Third War. Against all odds, and the warnings of his compatriots, the aging soldier snuck past lines of Scourge forces all the way to Tarren Mill where he successfully rallied the local militia to attack the Scourge from behind. The temporary siege of Southshore was lifted, allowing Alliance shipping lanes in the region to remain active for at least another few months. Aurora had heard these tales from her parents, who had themselves been present in Tarren Mill during Microft's arrival. Holding this knowledge in her heart, the paladin strode back towards the ailing man._

"_Hold still," Aurora mumbled as she summoned a sphere of Holy energy which wrapped around her palms. She moved her hands slowly across "Smitty's" chest and in mere moments the embedded weapons fell harmlessly to the snow and his wounds began to seal. _

"_Thanks, paladin," the elder rasped. "Please…do not waste more time on this old timer…move on to the others."_

"_They are weak," Aurora growled, continuing the healing process despite Microft's demands to the contrary. "While valiant soldiers like you charge ahead and fight against all odds, many of the others faltered thanks to their foolishness and lackadaisical nature during training."_

"_Aurora, many of the men are simply green," Baelin replied, holding up a hand to prevent Microft from straining himself by speaking further. "In times like these we cannot commit our best troops to such assaults. Our experts and commanders must remain at the Monastery to plan and protect it from Forsaken raids…"_

"_Shut your trap!" Aurora snapped, the Holy magic disappearing as she finished the healing process. "I worked hard to train many of these men, yet my lessons do not stick. They are cowards. They are fools. They are whimpering dogs. Have you not heard tales of the Third War? Though the armies were less trained and ready than in the Second War they fought tooth and nail, and clumsy boys became heroic men. Even women raised their swords, as housewives slaughtered the vilest fiends from beyond the grave. And now you ask me to have pity for these soldiers merely because of inexperience?" The paladin scoffed. "Were you ready during your first battle? Was I? Of course not. And yet we prevailed, we danced through fields of corpses and brought glory to the Scarlet Crusade."_

_Baelin opened his mouth, closing it in vain as Aurora trudged off. He'd hoped they could come to a mutual understanding, and somewhere in his heart he longed for the days when they were close. The warrior sighed and turned back towards the field of carnage. He took another breath and began scouring the area for survivors._

* * *

"_Not bad, initiates, we'll have you all up to snuff and ready to fight the Scourge before the month ends," Baelin's kind words bounced across the walls surrounding the training field. "Now head back to your bunks and get some rest. We'll meet back here at dawn again tomorrow."_

_Delilah could barely stand. She'd never trained this hard before. The other officers were tough on the initiates, but Baelin made these leaders seem like nursemaids. The fast-paced marches, endless sparring sessions, and difficult rituals of the Light left all the low-ranking Scarlet Crusaders drained._

_It's a good thing Baelin was easy on the eyes: otherwise, finding the strength to continue forward would be impossible for Delilah. Single-minded hatred of the undead had once fueled her but now…she fought for something more. He was much older, to be sure, but she'd heard of such marriages in the past. After the lands were cleansed, perhaps she'd be lucky enough to build a life together with Baelin._

* * *

_Uther's Arm _shuddered violently and whipped backwards, pulling Aurora along with it. Delilah smirked as she watched the fruits of her planning blossom: the weapon had caught on a low-hanging branch of one of the apple trees. Thanks to months of studying Aurora's technique, Delilah realized her preferred method of kill involved an overhead strike, a powerful attack but disadvantageous in this situation.

Aurora stumbled and began to topple backwards. Her concentration wavered, causing her aura to dissipate for but a brief moment. _Damn her…she's smarter than I gave her credit for…_

Delilah didn't hesitate. The younger paladin stood and drew another dagger from her belt, plunging the weapon into Aurora's stomach. Delilah dropped to her knees and rolled backwards, dodging a swing of Aurora's hammer.

Delilah rose to her feet, panting. Aurora stared directly back at her adversary. "Another dagger, Delilah? Didn't you see the first one did little? And here I was, thinking you might be a clever opponent after your trick with these trees."

"Oh, it worked perfectly," Delilah smirked, cupping her hands around her mouth before shouting: "Ellen! Do it now!"

A bolt of energy dashed through the air, crackling and surging as it made a beeline for the dagger embedded in Aurora's midsection. The magical blast struck the dagger, flowing through it as if drawn by a lightning rod. The power quickly surged over Aurora, bathing the Inquisitor in verdant flame. Aurora felt to her knees, dropping her weapon as the assault continued to tear at her body. She felt her bones cracking within her body, could feel blood erupting from her pores, and yet all her calls for the aid of the Holy Light were unmet.

Aurora stared into the distance where she saw a lone mage standing beside Delilah, the girl cloaked in crimson robes. "You…you're…Warren's apprentice…" Aurora's words fell heavily, the strain of speaking almost draining her last vestiges of strength. "Delilah…you bitch…this was supposed to be…a duel of…honor…"

"There is no honor among murderers," Delilah stated. "I am not better than you, but I'd be either haughty or careless if I thought to defeat you alone."

"But…how…?" Aurora stammered, reaching for the dagger within her body. With great effort, she pulled out the weapon at gazed at it, watching as runes swirled around its blade.

"That is a powerful Elven artifact, a perfect conduit for augmenting any sort of magic," Ellen Harmonia spoke up. "It belonged…"

"…to Illana," Delilah finished.

"But…holy energy…should not have this…effect…nor…arcane…" Each word drew Aurora closer to the pit as she fought to remain alive.

"I'd dabble in even the darkest Fel Magiks if it meant I could kill the woman who slaughtered the only person who ever cared for and protected me," Ellen's voice was brusque, deliberate even. "Like Delilah, I'd go to any length if it'd guarantee achieving my goals."

"That's…it then…" Aurora's words hovered soundlessly in the air, barely making their way towards her foes. "You did it…Delilah…I hate to say it…but you're…pretty…clever…"

Aurora Cronos's eyes closed for the last time and she fell backwards, her charred body lying amidst the apple trees. A light wind blew, tossing several crumpled leaves onto the lifeless heap below them.

_A life of hatred and pain ends so easily...one can die alone and leave no real legacy. Is life really…so meaningless?_ Delilah stood muddled in thought, gazing at the body of her beaten foe. It was truly unbelievable: she had never expected to face down a member of the Scarlet Crusade's elite and survive the encounter, let alone with herself mostly intact.

"So that's how it ends, seems we were successful," Ellen breathed a sigh of relief. "We've both avenged our friends." Delilah did not turn to face the mage, shuddering slightly as she stared at Aurora's corpse. "Delilah…are you…crying?"

"No," Delilah murmured. With a flourish, the paladin turned to face the mage and screeched her lungs out. "Guards! Guards! This villainous cur dabbled in fel energy to slaughter our beloved leader Inquisitor Aurora!"

In a flash, over two dozen Scarlet Crusaders appeared, rushing from a nearby barracks with weapons raised. They surrounded Ellen as a perplexed look crossed the magister's visage.

"Delilah! We were a team! You swore we were loyal allies!" Ellen babbled at a rapid pace, fear in her eyes.

"Ally? With a cretin like yourself? Preposterous!" Delilah's retort was vicious. "Guards, finish her now before she can call upon her demon masters!"

The Scarlet Crusaders drew closer to Ellen, weapons raised and eyes narrowed. The young mage chanted rapidly, desperately trying to gather what bits of energy she could. She blasted one pikeman back, but seconds later the first blade bit into her flesh. The soldiers surrounded her, their weapons rising and falling in a hideous act of butchery, leaving nothing remaining. With their grisly task done, the troops turned towards Delilah.

"See that she gets a proper burial…this woman meant a lot to me…" Delilah stammered, pointing at Aurora's corpse. Two soldiers strode forward, lifting Aurora's frame onto their shoulders and carrying her towards the north of the city. Aurora would find no real peace: her body would burn so the Scourge could not claim her, and a small scrap of stone with her name the only marking of this hero's grave. Delilah strode over to where _Uther's Arm_ had fallen during the scuffle, lifted up the weapon, and placed it on her back; it seemed a shame to let such a mighty magical artifact lay useless in the field.

Delilah shuddered as she walked through the streets of Tyr's Hand, trying desperately to avoid the gazes of the men and women who milled about. Truly, she had sacrificed almost everything for victory: her honor, her honesty, and her morals.

_If Baelin saw me now…what would he think? _Delilah mulled these words over hour upon hour as she sat staring at the ceiling of her barracks. She tossed in her bed, memories racing and preventing her from finding the peace of sleep. Even if she asked the question, she knew the answer: Baelin was pure, never abandoning his ideals or morals. In that way, he and Aurora really were quite similar; Aurora, though malicious and hate-filled, was truly pure in her goals, never once diverging from the path she set herself. Delilah had chosen by failing to choose: she had walked the line between morality and villainy, love and hatred. Now all that remained was a shell, a confused woman with no purpose.

_The Undead still roam…and so I shall still hunt them, _Delilah reassured herself. _Aurora was weak…yes weakness was her undoing. She would even justify her murder, she always did hate those who could not fend for themselves. Truly…truly I will become strong! I will charge forth with the Scarlet Crusade into the future! I will kill every last Scourge and Forsaken figure that stalks Azeroth! By Baelin's Blood I shall not falter!_

* * *

"And so we shall sail, to Northrend!"

"To Northrend!" The voices echoed in reply. Wave after wave of troops had already loaded themselves and their gear onto the multitude of waiting ships in the bay of Tyr's Hand. Barrels of provisions made their way up gangplanks as cavalrymen tied their horses to makeshift stables in the lower decks.

"What is Northrend like, Captain?" The young girl asked. The youth shouldered a scabbard as she strode up the walkway beside _Mograine's Fury_, the mighty four masted warship which now swayed listlessly with the tides.

"I haven't a clue," Delilah Corwin replied. "I've heard it is a frozen wasteland of snow and undead horrors. Other creatures lurk there, to be sure, but we mustn't forget our true goal."

"Rumor has it the Alliance and the Horde have established their own outposts on the frozen shores," Elric Isana spoke up, adjusting his spectacles with his remaining hand as he stared across the ship's bow and into the horizon.

"Let them fight, all it means is more trouble for that bastard Arthas." Delilah surveyed the deck. The soldiers here had fire, to be sure, but the Scarlet Crusade was but a shell of its former self. Many of their finest soldiers had died in the Scourge assault two years prior, and during the intervening months more lives were lost to both undead monsters and incursions of Alliance and Horde treasure hunters hoping to rob the vaults of Tyr's Hand. Both Sonja and Adrian had met their ends during the intervening months during a reconnaissance mission against Corin's Crossing; Delilah had shown no outward remorse at the report of their deaths, but had spent the remainder of the evening locked in her quarters and refused food.

"Yes…they're nothing like Baelin's expedition," Elric stated, almost reading Delilah's mind. "We've survived with worse."

"We'll kill the Lich King, won't we?" The young girl asked again, tugging on Delilah's sleeve. A glare from her captain sent the youth cringing back. "Sorry…I didn't mean…"

"No need to worry," Delilah forced a smile. "The Scarlet Onslaught will crush whatever remains of Arthas's frozen corpse. I intend to watch Ice Crown burn beneath a hail a holy fire." Yet for all her bravado, Delilah knew this was a lie.

_I'll never see Lordaeron again_, Delilah told herself, taking a final look at the continent behind her. She strained her eyes, peering as far as she could. She almost believed she could see the trees of Tirisfal and the ruins of the Scarlet Monastery where everything had began almost three years ago. The time seemed almost meaningless now.

"Captain? Are you prepared?" Elric's voice snapped Delilah out of her musing.

"Yes, Colonel."

"Good. Sailors, cast off and raise the sails! In less than one month's time we will reach Northrend and avenge our fallen kingdoms and lost comrades!"

Fists rose and shouts of excitement greeted Elric's declaration. The soldiers rushed, placing the last of their provisions onto the ship. When the final warrior had boarded the vessel, handymen began untying ropes and weighing the ship's massive anchor.

Ten mighty ships departed Tyr's Hand to the joyous shouts of the troops they left behind. Most called back, boasting of their anticipated triumphs. Delilah left the deck, retiring to her quarters. Elric followed close behind, locking the door as they entered the private room.

"She's…just like me," Delilah whispered, sitting on the cold cot and cupping her face in her hands. "That young girl…she has all the fire and naivety I once possessed."

"People change," Elric stated, remaining standing. "War and death can temper even the most joyous gent into a hardened monster."

"Is it right, Elric? Is this crusade of ours truly holy? I keep telling myself, trying to convince myself, that this all has meaning and purpose. Perhaps Lordaeron is not meant to be restored, perhaps we will fail."

"Is your faith wavering?"

"No, it isn't," Delilah declared, "I'm more convinced than ever that our mission is right, whether or not our methods are just. But I…regret so much."

Elric walked over and took a seat beside Delilah on the bed, turning to her and motioning that she should continue speaking.

"I wish Aurora was still alive," Delilah continued. "She was the perfect adversary. I hated her, I truly did, but I learned so much from that woman. I learned how to overcome my limitations. I learned what it meant to have a cause worth fighting for. I learned to never surrender even in the face of overwhelming odds."

"She was one of a kind," Elric answered calmly. He choked back a sigh, disguising his remorse with a cough. "I doubt we'll ever meet a paladin of her caliber again. She may have lacked the raw power of some of our leaders, but she carried a fire within her that made her one of the deadliest humans in Azeroth. Not since the Ashbringer have I seen someone of her ilk."

Delilah nodded, fighting to bring out more words. "This mission is suicide. We lack the manpower and the skill to take down one such as Arthas." She shuddered, causing Elric to place his arm around her. "But even if we're to die, I'll be the first to charge straight for Arthas's throne, my hammer held high as I kill every foe in my way."

Delilah and Elric turned to face one another, and engaged in a long, passionate kiss. Both had clung to each other out of desperation more than true amour. Each hoped to find something of their past love in the other, but now perhaps the purpose of their courtship mattered not at all.

"We may not survive this, but know that I love you," Elric declared, his normal tough tone melting away. "I may not be able to fight as well without my arm, but I swear to be beside you every moment until our mission is complete, or until we're cast towards oblivion."

Delilah turned back to face him. "There are no certainties in life save death, but I swear every member of the Scarlet Onslaught who falls shall die a hero's death and be remembered as the saviors of Azeroth!"

The ship sailed ever northward, towards the tip of the world. The crew of this ship never would return to the Eastern Kingdoms. For now, however, a deep-seated determination and love of life was all that pervaded Delilah Corwin's psyche.

HES: Well guys, we're finally here. This is the end of _Scarlet Band_. I really appreciate all of your support over these past few years This story was a pleasure to write and I'm honored that so many of you enjoyed the story. I also apologize for having such a spotty update schedule; I've been working on this chapter for over 6 months but it was truly difficult for me to write; then again, I shouldn't make excuses and I'll let the writing speak for itself. I know the ending may not satisfy everyone, but this is where I'd like to conclude the story. Will there be a story about Delilah and Elric traveling in Northrend in the future? I cannot say for sure, but for now I'm leaving things as they are. As always, please review as I really value input.


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